


Polish the Stars

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: Vexation of Spirit [14]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Shadow Unit, The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Sucks to be Chaz, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Bonding, Family Secrets, Flashbacks, Grave Robbers, M/M, Mind Meld, Sick Character, bad idea; good implementation, unflattering views of rural Nebraska
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 104,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: In Idaho Falls, a killer has been hanging victims up in playgrounds, surrounded by battery-powered glowing stars. In York, there are bodies to be exhumed and difficult questions to be asked and maybe even answered. In Midland, an unusual number of patient-family suicides surround a mid-sized hospital. And from her cell, Narcisse continues to plot against her nemesis, the yet-unbowed Spencer Reid.





	1. Chapter 1

Reid was late. Not actually late, but later than he tended to come in, being that he was usually there before anyone else, just to beat traffic and have the time to appreciate the space before the rest of the team occupied it. That and he hated walking into a full room. But, he'd had an inexplicably horrific headache, and it took him an extra half hour to pull himself together enough to think leaving the house was a good idea. Langly dropped him off, so he wouldn't have to drive, and promised to come get him, if Chaz couldn't take him home, later.  
  
And even this was different. The last time he'd thought his head was going to explode, he'd had to drive himself to work. And he tried to convince himself it wasn't weak or lazy to let someone else do it for him, that he'd still be able to do it just as well as he had the last time, if it came to it, but believing himself was just not on the agenda.  
  
And, of course, he walked in just as Prentiss called a briefing for a new case.  
  
He glanced longingly at the cup from the coffee he'd just finished, as he tried to pay attention past the clenching nausea and the pounding in his head, and wondered if he wasn't coming down with something. Come back from sick leave, immediately catch flu, or some equally ridiculous thing.  
  
"What do you think, Reid?" JJ asked, and suddenly the entire table was looking at him.  
  
He sat up a little bit straighter and tried to focus on the screen at the other end of the room. He hoped he'd been paying enough attention. "There are no similarities in race or gender, so far. Age seems to be adult, but not elderly, though with only three victims, it's impossible to say where that may go, in the future. These would have passed for random acts of violence, if not for the incredibly specific displays. Displays which, unfortunately, without further context, don't tell us much. There's no immediately obvious _type_ , no _obvious_ symbols in the display that suggest why these victims were chosen. Obviously, there's something, but it's nothing superficial -- either the victims were chosen for convenience, rather than any other attribute, or we don't know enough about the victims, yet, to make the connection. But, looking at the care taken with the displays, _something_ is being said, here. The question remains whether it's philosophical or aesthetic."  
  
"He means we've got nothing," Simmons summarised, after a moment.  
  
"Man, I don't know how you come in looking like something out the wrong end of a dog, and you can still put sentences together like that." Alvez shook his head.  
  
"The first PhD was less about the subject matter and more about learning to do exactly that," Reid quipped, pleased to be able to do even that. He wondered how bad he looked, if Alvez was commenting on it.  
  
"I'm still working on the victims." Garcia held up a hand from where she was staring intently at her tablet rather than the images on the screen. "But, I can get you the details as I have them.   
  
Prentiss stood up, closing the folder in front of her and gesturing at the door with it. "To the Batplane, crimefighters!"  
  
Reid looked up at her, owlishly. "Batplane?"  
  
"I was getting tired of 'wheels up in thirty'." Prentiss shrugged. "No Batplane, huh?"  
  
"I like the Batplane!" Alvez volunteered, pulling the door open.  
  
"Yeah, but which version?" Simmons asked, as they walked out into the hall.  
  
Reid stood aside as the room emptied, figuring he'd ask JJ for a ride.  
  
"You sure you're all right?" Lewis asked, as he gestured for her to precede him.  
  
"Nothing a few more cups of coffee won't cure." Reid managed something like a reassuring smile.  
  
As he stepped out, he spotted Chaz coming in from the hall, and made his way over.   
  
"You look as bad as I do. You--" Realisation dawned across Reid's face.  
  
"Sorry. I'm--"  
  
"Discussing this in the car, because you're driving me to the airport. I've got a case, and Frank dropped me off this morning."  
  
Chaz debated whether he was still drunk, and then whether it mattered. He nodded, trying to gather the escaping tendrils of hangover that had invaded Reid's mind while he wasn't paying attention. "We'll make it. Stopping to pick up your bag?"  
  
"I should start keeping it in my desk, again." Reid rubbed the corner of his eye as the headache faded.

* * *

Chaz tried not to listen to the _other_ side of the call Reid was making, even though it was just Langly. He really needed to keep the rest of this hangover to himself, and the further back he held himself, the less likely it was to spill over. Yet another thing to work on, particularly because this wasn't a problem they'd had, before, and it should have been, if it was just him. This was the Anomaly trying to exploit the light hallway again, not to catch Reid, this time, but to hurt him. Chaz had taken that first shot to the PTSD, himself, and in trying to numb it, to drown it out, he'd provided enough slack for the thing to take a slap at Reid. And that was not acceptable. There were acceptable failures, but that was not one of them.  
  
"I know, but the headache's gone. I'll be fine-- yes, I know it's the first case since-- _Langly_. Stop. I've been in the field for fifteen years. This is not the first time I've been shot. I'm fine. I'm going to Idaho to stop a killer, and I'll be home in a few days. Same as always." Reid took a deep breath. "I promise you, I'm coming home. Tell Garcia I said it's okay for you to keep an eye on my phone, this time. You know what I've come back from, and this just isn't going to be that exciting. But, I know you're worried. And we both know it's irrational, just like we both know it's irrational that I don't want you picking me up at the airport, when I come back."  
  
It took Chaz a moment to decide the sudden uptick in nausea was still just the hangover, and not the memory of discovering Langly had gone missing.  
  
"I love you. I'll be back in a few days. Take care of yourself, and if you can't take care of yourself, let Byers take care of you."  
  
The squawk from the other end of the call was loud enough for Chaz to hear without borrowing Reid's perceptions.  
  
"I'll leave a message when we're back on the ground. I'll be fine, Langly. I always am." Reid ducked his head and smiled. "I love you, too. Don't _argue_ with me! I-- You know what, just for that, I'm writing a poem, and I'm going to leave it in your delayed messages."  
  
Chaz started laughing as Reid hung up, shaking his head. "He's really not good at this, is he?"  
  
"Because you're one to talk."  
  
"Like you're any better!"  
  
"Clearly, I'm better at it than _he_ is!"  
  
"Vengeance via love poetry? I'm not sure you are..." Chaz executed one of those lane changes that always put Reid's lungs in his throat, regardless of the level of innate trust between them.  
  
"I'm not sure you're really in a position to be making this argument, right now. Maybe by the time I get back." Reid eyed Chaz wryly, no trace of discomfort on his face.  
  
"It's not going to take me that long to get over a hangover."  
  
"I'm less worried about you getting over this one, and more worried about you having another."  
  
Chaz took a deep breath. "No. This is probably my hangover for the year. Like I said, every once in a very great while, the Anomaly decides I'm not doing enough to promote suffering in the world, and actually gets something past me. Before today, it could only hurt _me_ like that, but now it's figured out it can get you, too. Or, it ... could. Actually, it's going to be a little harder to hurt me, now that half of hurting me is going to make you suffer, so... thanks, I think."  
  
"Because you're going to be too worried about me for it to push the usual buttons." Reid sighed, watching the city go by out the window. "I'm not sure that's at all safe or reasonable, but it might work in the short term."  
  
"If you get another faceful of that, slam the door on it. It's the one thing I know you can do with your own ... presumably non-anomalous talents."  
  
Reid didn't look convinced -- not that he could do it, that was long proven, but that it was a good idea.  
  
"Look, I've been doing this my entire life, and you shouldn't have to. I can take care of myself. I'm just... I'm not sure I can always take care of both of us, at the same time. I'll try, and it will probably usually work, but if I slip, just slam the door on it." Chaz took his eyes off the road just long enough to convey to Reid how serious he was. "And if you're still worried about me? Call me, like a normal person. I'll be a scary disaster, but it's me. That's kind of..."  
  
"Does it help if I reassure you that you're only a disaster sometimes? Possibly no more often than I am?"  
  
"Not really. I still know me a little better than you do."  
  
"We both have secrets." Reid nodded, looking out the window, again.

* * *

"Still spending a lot of time with Villette," JJ observed, as Reid stowed his bag and went for coffee.  
  
"I didn't have my car, and he wanted to talk to me. There was a simple solution to both problems. We're still arguing about something that might go to his team, so I can't really talk about that, but we'll know one way or the other, soon." Reid shook his head and went for his seat.  
  
"Still a little unusual to see you ... I don't know, you're usually a lot more restrained around people you haven't known as long as you've known us." JJ took the seat across from him. "Frank's influence, maybe?"  
  
"Profiling your co-workers again, maybe?" Reid teased, eyeing JJ over his coffee and raising his eyebrows. "Villette and I have a lot more in common than either of us do with anyone else in the building. Now that we've worked together, and now that I'm the unit liaison, we have the knowledge that we work well together and a reason to continue doing so. Having a similar, but non-identical, perspective can be extremely useful."  
  
"And having Villette around makes you creepy and intimidating," Alvez pointed out, taking the seat next to JJ. He knew better than to try to sit next to Reid.  
  
"Only when we want to be."  
  
Alvez blinked. "I don't know if it's better or worse that you're doing it on purpose..."  
  
"Better," JJ decided, paging through the initial reports from the murders. "It means they can do it on command."  
  
"Okay, but how?" Alvez turned in his seat to watch Reid diagonally across the table. "I've been watching you two, because you're right in front of me, and I can't see it. You watch anything long enough, and there should be some sign of what's going on, some signal. Like, you may not figure out a card trick the first few times, but spend long enough staring at someone's hands, and it'll come to you."  
  
Reid couldn't quite be said to be smiling, but he definitely looked amused. "Funny you should bring up card tricks, because in the end, it's a similar principle, if a little more like the psychic vision tricks. The problem, of course, is that _you're_ too busy looking at the hands. We have a lot of context that you're missing, just by virtue of being children in the same city, at the same time. Beyond that, we share an even more specific set of experiences, based on the fact that we were not, by any means, average, and then we pursued extremely similar careers. His background, even in the Bureau, is much closer to mine than yours is to either of ours. We came from a very different place. And even more than that? We're both exceptional at certain kinds of stage magic. Big fans of Swann's work, even if only one of us actually got to see him, live. We're good at this, and together, we're even better at it, because the inherent similarities cut down on the time it takes to learn another person's signals. JJ and I are good at it, if you want another example of working creepily well together, but Villette and I are exceptional, in no small part because the physical similarities between us make us all the more unsettling."  
  
JJ nodded at Alvez, as Rossi edged around them to take the seat next to Reid. "It's true. Married couple, siblings, I think we did mother and son, one time, when he still looked twelve."  
  
"I did not look _twelve_ ," Reid argued, looking entirely offended. "I might have passed for seventeen, if you didn't look too closely."  
  
"It was those glasses." JJ held up a hand to hide the way a suppressed laugh twisted her mouth.  
  
"I'm still wearing the same style." Reid paused, considering that. "Still? No. Again. I like them. The lenses don't pop out if I sit on them."  
  
"Contacts." Alvez nodded, sagely.  
  
Reid pinned him with a look that brooked no argument. "Never. Again."  
  
"Getting back to the case at hand..." Rossi looked up from his tablet and glanced at Reid, as the plane started to taxi. "Finish your coffee, so you don't pour it into your lap during takeoff."  
  
"You've known me for a dozen years, Rossi. I have never spilled coffee during takeoff." The cup stayed in Reid's hands, because he knew if he put it down, he was going to wear it.  
  
"There was that one time..." JJ raised her eyebrows as she tucked the paper file under the side of her thigh and switched to her tablet.  
  
"That wasn't coffee." Reid leaned back and closed his eyes. "We're going to Idaho Falls, site of the first and only nuclear reactor accident inside the US. It happened in nineteen sixty-one, so a substantial number of people still living in the area probably remember it."  
  
"People your boyfriend's age," Rossi teased.  
  
"Frank was born in --" Reid stopped himself from saying 'sixty-eight', which was Langly's birth year, not _Frank's_. "-- seventy-two. The point is, one of our victims is a nuclear engineer who worked at the national lab built on the same site, and another was a fireman. Of course, then we run into problems with the auto mechanic. Still, we'll be interviewing Dr Taylor's co-workers, so it's important to be aware of the history of the facility."  
  
"Garcia can tell us more about the victims, once we're off the ground." JJ turned her tablet over to display the wide-angle photos of the three victims in situ. "The scenes are interesting, but I'm still not quite sure what to make of them. All three are in playgrounds, and they're using the playground equipment and baling wire to support the bodies and apparently identical star frames with Christmas lights on them."  
  
"The stars are fairly common holiday decorations," Reid said, leaning forward to see them again. "If I'm not mistaken, they're the kind sold for use on rooftops, so they're large enough to be plainly visible from the ground, and probably from a decent distance above, as well. I remember a case where the reindeer style was used to signal--" He looked up and caught the way JJ's lips tightened. "But, stars or reindeer, those are likely to be a relatively normal thing to have five or six of in the cellar. We should check off-season sales, but I'm not particularly optimistic."  
  
"Same with the battery packs," Alvez said, looking at the detail photos. "They're pretty common, especially in places where camping's popular or the power goes out regularly. But, they're not cheap. We're looking for someone who can afford to drop a couple hundred dollars for a single murder."  
  
"Make sure they weren't stolen from the victims," Reid said suddenly. "It's absurd, but it might be a connection, and it would also lower the monetary cost of the displays."  
  
"Dead people framed in stars," Rossi mused, glancing across the wide aisle to where Prentiss, Lewis, and Simmons were having some version of the same conversation. Once they levelled off, they'd be able to compare conclusions. "Suffocated and suspended, fully-dressed, from children's play equipment. And there's no grass stains on the clothes, so they were probably killed elsewhere and moved."  
  
"If they were killed in those clothes, it would be obvious," Reid pointed out. "I'm not seeing any of the other expected staining."  
  
"He's got a point." Alvez nodded. "They've been washed and  re-dressed. We should check if the clothes actually belong to the victims."  
  
Reid stared into space for a moment. "Dolls. Cleaned, dressed, and posed in a children's playground? The stars remind me of some of the advertising and displays for semi-collectible dolls when I was young."  
  
"I wasn't sure you'd ever seen the inside of a toy store," Rossi teased.  
  
"Not often. There wasn't much I wanted in them." Reid shrugged, shaking his head. "But, those special edition Barbies were everywhere. And there was another line of dolls -- I can't remember the name, but the display was sky blue with gold-glitter outlined stars on it, and one of the dolls was posed in front of each star."  
  
"How many stars?" JJ asked, watching Reid curiously.  
  
"I don't remember." Reid shook his head again. "I might have been six, and it wasn't what I was there for. I'm surprised I remember it at all, but the whole aisle was an eye-burning fuchsia, except that one blue display. I'm not even sure if they're relevant, but the combination of those points reminded me of them. The victims aren't really posed, and there's no blue background. It's just the stars."  
  
"I'm going to ask Garcia, anyway," JJ decided. "Knowing her, she probably remembers them off the top of her head and owned four."  
  
"I wouldn't bet against you." Reid nodded slowly. "At the very least we can definitively mark them out as an influence, if she does remember, and they don't have any other matches to the scenes or the victims."  
  
"The parks don't make sense," Rossi observed, scrolling across the map. "These parks aren't the closest to the victims' homes or workplaces."  
  
"Are they the closest with playgrounds?" Reid asked, leaning in to look at Rossi's tablet. "I'm pretty sure the playgrounds are an important part of the display."  
  
"Ask me that when we have the internet back."  
  
"By then, we'll have Garcia, and she's faster than all of us." JJ leaned forward to look past Alvez out the window, trying to figure out how long that would be.  
  
"How's that headache?" Alvez asked Reid.  
  
"Gone." Reid shrugged, as if the crippling sickness that had beset him earlier were of no consequence. "It's like I told Lewis, I just needed some more coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to pretend this has an update schedule. Tags will update as I figure out what the fuck is going on in my own fic.
> 
> New readers, you're probably lost as all hell, and I advise going back to at least 'Love Letters', for context. Tada, there's a whole damn series, here.


	2. Chapter 2

"Frohike!" Langly didn't bother with the switches for the intercom. It would hear him, and so would wherever he wanted to be heard. His fingers clattered across the keyboard, just to keep him focused. "We've got a problem!"  
  
"Keep your pants on," the intercom squawked back. "Let me get a coffee."  
  
"Reid doesn't have time for you to be worried about coffee!" Langly snapped, calling Garcia's direct number by way of a payphone on the other side of town. "Got a problem, Your Majesty, and it's your problem."  
  
"No, no, no! It is not my problem! I am doing victimology!" Garcia chirped, sounding entirely harassed.  
  
"Then shove me off to Hafs, but it's Reid."  
  
Garcia paused, the sound of typing from her end stopping cold. "No, Reid's on a plane. He's flying to Idaho. There's nothing wrong with Reid."  
  
"There's about to be. The Ruby Mirror's holding his employment file, and I'm trying to figure out where else it's been sent."  
  
"What are they go-- Oh, my god. _No_."  
  
"I'm taking that system off the network. Data's going to be fine," Langly promised. "But, if I'm going to clean this up, it has to be offline, or they're just going to come back and grab a new copy, and we don't have time to wait for the bureaucratic bullshit involved in temporarily killing a server. Hell, maybe this'll actually get someone's attention, considering I'm not fucking sure why this cluster is connected to the internet at all."  
  
But, that was a lie. He knew. He knew it wasn't directly connected, and someone else had gotten in the same way he had -- by compromising a machine that _was_ connected and switching networks from there. Which meant this was someone he had to worry about, someone with the kind of skills he and Vanity had, back in the day. And now Vanity had legitimate access, and he had superpowers, so where did that leave them?  
  
"Do it." The words were Garcia's blessing, rather than an order. She knew he already had. "I'm calling Gates, and then I have to take care of this case. Fix this, Frank. If anyone can do it..."  
  
"I know. We've got it."

* * *

"You _sure_ you don't want to try the bugzapper?" Hafidha asked, shaking the bowl of caramels in front of Chaz, to get his attention. She knew Langly was in the system somewhere, but for the most part, she'd stopped caring. Stopping him from rifling the FBI's files was just going to open a rift between them that they probably couldn't afford. He wasn't going to do anything stupid with what he found. Probably just leave her another note about configuration errors in other departments. She thought she'd do an actual audit, soon, and silently reconfigure some things, before raising hell about the things people might notice if she fixed.  
  
"I'm sure. You--" Something that might've been a laugh fell out of his mouth as he tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, reaching blindly into the bowl. "You have to remember I helped design it. I know how it works and why it works. And that it doesn't work for everyone. You were the ideal candidate for it. I'm... not. It's that difference in how it affects us. I might be better served slapping it with an antidepressant, but I hate the side effects more than I hate the Anomaly."  
  
"Mmm." Hafidha nodded. "You mean you're afraid of me."  
  
"You're still mad at me, after that one time." Chaz held up one finger, the rest of that hand curled around a few caramels. "I'd be an idiot not to be afraid of you, at least a little."  
  
"You're so cute. I'm--"  
  
The line of purple LEDs on her desk phone lit up as it rang and she snatched the receiver without so much as a word to Chaz. "Penny? What's wrong? ... Shit. Shit, are you fucking-- And why isn't he telling me this?" A long, guttural sound of dread poured out of her mouth. "Okay, give me what you have, and I'll go in after him. I'd rather know what we're looking for, so I don't grab something he's using. ... Okay. I'll be looking for it. Don't you worry, we'll get this taken care of."  
  
"What happened?" Chaz asked, through a mouthful of caramel.  
  
"Someone got into the employee files, and a whole lot of Spencer's personal information just got leaked to the tabloids. Ringo's cleaning it up, but he doesn't have enough hands."  
  
"Ruby Mirror?" Chaz managed, grabbing the nearest cup to wash the caramel down.  
  
"At least. I don't know anything yet, and I'm not talking any more until we fix this." Hafidha turned on two more screens and flapped a hand, shooing Chaz out of her office. "And shut the door."

* * *

Langly was not prepared to be polite about pulling the stories and wiping out the files that had led to them, which was why Frohike was handling that part. The thing about Frohike was that he wrote well under pressure, and a few minutes after Langly had laid out the problem for Garcia, Frohike had turned around a couple hundred words that could be slipped in where the original stories were meant to be. The subject was still Reid, but the conclusions were blatantly ridiculous, even if, in another time and place, they would've gotten the Syndicate up his ass, directly.  
  
'FBI AGENT SECRET ALIEN LOVECHILD', the headline read, with one of those pictures that made Reid look like a fifteen-year-old science fair winner, just to eat some more page space. And really, Frohike thought, it was a lot less funny than it should have been, with Langly's family suddenly even weirder than Byers's. Maybe still less weird than Mulder's, but not by much. Byers was still in the other room with the ream scanner, carefully not shouting expletives, as he crammed everything they used to know through it. And somewhere in the back of his head, Frohike wondered how much of some things still remained, after Susanne had rescued all of it. _Parts_ were gone, for absolutely sure. He knew there were things no cleanup team would've left untouched. He knew they were lucky the building hadn't just been firebombed in the wake of their deaths, but maybe Susanne had gotten there first. Which meant that 'Holly' was probably still in danger, now, for more reasons than just Helmsman's underlings making some last-ditch effort to shut down the investigation into how much damage had been done by the treasonous Colonel West.  
  
On the other side of the room, Langly had gone from swearing to incoherent swearing, as he worked, a sign that he'd stopped paying attention to his mouth, in favour of opening himself to more incoming data. Frohike really had no idea how one person could be so entirely oblivious to their immediate surroundings, but Langly had always been like that, especially while working.  
  
The faint smell of sausage and onion wafted in from the kitchen, but it wasn't until he heard Byers's voice that he realised it was because food was being carried toward him.  
  
"Langly, you have to stop."  
  
The expletives suddenly halted. "Screw you. Go back to scanning."  
  
Frohike heard the plate hit Langly's desk.  
  
"Dr Reid is going to be extremely upset with both of us if you suddenly lose another ten pounds, Langly. There's not ten pounds you can spare."  
  
"Dr Reid is going to be even more upset if the tabloids twist him into a drug-crazed murderer," Langly argued, flicking his fingers and centring something only he could see. "I'm all for freedom of the press, but I really have to put my foot down when it's not news because it's bullshit, and it's the kind of bullshit specifically designed to _hurt people_. I'd be pissed if someone ran the _truth_ about Reid, because that's his personal life, and whatever the hell happened, he sorted it out with the Bureau and his team, but I wouldn't be desperately pulling columns before the presses warm up for that. And I'm still not. Frohike's got that part. I'm going after the sagging asshole who got the files and sent them to Bollinger."  
  
"At least eat something." Byers sighed and nudged the plate toward Langly.  
  
Langly whipped an empty box of Twinkies at Byers, without taking his eyes off the wall of screens. "Been eating, thanks."

* * *

Bollinger opened the door on a slightly tall man in a dark suit, blurry, probably because he was backlit by the sun coming down the alley. "What the hell do you want?"  
  
Chaz opened his badge and held it out, making no move to adjust the image he presented to Bollinger. With any luck, Bollinger would just refuse to focus properly on him, and be totally unable to answer the inevitable questions that would follow. Well, not inevitable. He could make sure Bollinger didn't remember him, but that ... He wanted to do this the easy way. The least harmful way for both him and Bollinger, however much he disliked the man. He might not always be sure where the line was, until he tripped on it, but he'd managed not to cross it, yet. Not in this lifetime.  
  
"Mr Bollinger, I presume? I'm Agent Maltemps. We're just checking up on all the agents involved in Colonel West's arrest. Routine investigation, in a case this serious. When we started looking into Spencer Reid, I heard you were the man to talk to. I understand you've got an inside line on his less-presentable doings." He folded the badge and slid it back into his pocket, counting on Bollinger not having enough experience with the FBI to call him on it.  
  
"You're aware I won't be disclosing any of my sources." Bollinger continued to block the door with his body, mentally cursing the backlighting for the fact he just couldn't quite make out the man at his door. The badge had looked very real, though. He just couldn't tell if the photo matched, because he couldn't make out this guy's face. "I'm a journalist. I have rights."  
  
"I would never ask." Chaz smiled pleasantly, hoping he could continue to exude calm, rather than the bone-deep annoyance that this had gotten serious enough that they were going to have to clean it up in ways a little more serious than just calling the local police. And he didn't _need_ to ask about Bollinger's sources. If he wanted to know, he'd know. "I'm not interested in the names of your sources, or their contact information. I may be interested in seeing documentation, but you're welcome to redact anything that would reveal your source. I'm just checking on rumours before we hear them in court. We'd rather know if one or more of our agents has any unfortunate secrets, so we can deal with those agents appropriately."  
  
He was hoping the implication that the FBI was looking to sandbag Reid would get him through the door.  
  
Bollinger nodded, opening the door a little wider. "You're coming in without a warrant. You touch _nothing_ I don't hand to you."  
  
"I agree to your terms." Chaz nodded deeply, following Bollinger into a space he thought might be even smaller than Reid's apartment, a single-room studio, with what was likely a bathroom tucked into the far corner, next to a desk that sat under the windows that occupied most of that wall.   
  
Bollinger gestured toward a vinyl-seated kitchen chair beside a small table just beside the kitchen that stretched down one wall, and Chaz sat. The table was devoid of both dishes and paperwork, an interesting change from the kitchens of certain other journalists he'd known, over the years.  
  
"So, what exactly would you like to know?" Bollinger asked, getting himself a glass of water and sitting at the other side of the table. He wasn't sure why he still couldn't quite focus, but the blond man sitting across from him bore enough resemblance to the photo that he didn't think there was any reason to believe it wasn't the same person.  
  
"Anything you can think of, really." Chaz continued to smile, pleasantly. "At this point, it doesn't even matter if it's true. I'd just like to hear what you've heard, to get some insight into what's going around, besides the tabloids' insistence that he's Bat Boy's cousin, or the second coming of Newton."  
  
Bollinger laughed. "Newton. That's a good one. Did they really print that one?"  
  
Chaz nodded, pained disbelief on his face.  
  
"Well, let's start with the easy ones: you already know he's a junky and a murderer, and yet somehow, he's still a federal agent."  
  
"Agent Reid has not been involved in the commission of any killings that were not deemed appropriate, in their context." Chaz shrugged, flicking a hand dismissively. He wasn't touching the other point with a forty-foot pole with a skunk on the end. There was a conversation he needed to have with Reid, in there. Probably. Maybe.  He'd have _noticed_ if Reid was using. While he had no doubt Reid could hide it from almost anyone else, Chaz was _much_ too familiar with the way even _Reid's_ mind would be marked by that, with that specific tension, with the smell and the taste, with the scattered marks in unusual places that never quite healed. And Bollinger had assumed he knew, so even if it wasn't true, someone had thought enough of the idea to investigate it.  
  
"Then what was that in Mexico?" Bollinger demanded, interrupting Chaz's thoughts before he could reach the next conclusion.  
  
"Agent Reid helped to bring a pair of internationally-wanted criminals to justice. _They_ committed the murder in question." Chaz pinned Bollinger with his eyes. "I'd ask how you know about that, but I agreed not to ask about your sources."  
  
"Convenient, don't you think?" Bollinger didn't wait for a response. "And now he's accused of rape. I suppose that's going to get swept under the rug, too."  
  
"I can't comment on open cases, but the Bureau is looking into that accusation." Chaz didn't mention that he, and everyone else, suspected the accusation was intended to force a DNA test on Reid's _boyfriend_ , to match against the samples and against accusations about his identity. Which wouldn't even matter, any more. The DNA had already held up, and everyone knew that couldn't possibly be Richard Langly.  
  
"The guy's got an awful lot of investigations into his shootings," Bollinger went on, spinning the glass between his hands on the table.  
  
"Of course. Every time an agent's weapon is fired, off the range, there's an investigation. Every single time, regardless of whether anyone was wounded." Chaz shrugged again. "But, you're still not telling me anything I haven't heard elsewhere."  
  
"How about that he's threatening respectable journalists for no good reason!"  
  
"Is he?" Chaz folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, pretending he had no idea that Langly had trashed Bollinger's photos or that Bollinger had been taking more photos through Reid's windows. "Tell me about that."


	3. Chapter 3

Reid was still at the morgue with Alvez, when JJ walked into the room that barely fit all of them, hanging up her phone as she pointed it at Rossi. "If the next victim's Asian, I'm pretty sure we have a profile."  
  
Prentiss turned from where she was pulling together information on the third victim's family, so she'd have some sense of what she was walking into, when they arrived. Lewis was still interviewing the first victim's family. "That was fast."  
  
"Reid may have nailed it, on the plane." JJ shrugged and forwarded the most recent message from Garcia. "The dolls were a line called 'Colors of America'. Aimed at children probably eight to twelve, each one presenting a heavily Americanised version of a different ethnicity. So, the faces and hair represented the cultures, along with a few props, but the dolls were dressed in sports uniforms and work clothes that reflected the American city they were supposed to be from. I guess the idea was to promote the idea that the American dream was for everyone. And each doll had a story booklet that told a little bit about where their family had come from, and what it was like for them growing up in their city and becoming notable in the community."  
  
"So, what, a black nuclear physicist, a Shoshone fireman, and a white mechanic?" Rossi looked a little sceptical.  
  
"The first three dolls were a Sudanese scientist, a _Cherokee_ fireman, and an English mechanic. The scientist and the mechanic made a splash because they were women, and it was the early 80s -- especially the mechanic." JJ shook her head. "Garcia says there were letters to the editor for months about 'Annie Rocklin, Auto Mechanic', with her flannel shirt and grease-stain sleevelets."  
  
"So, our fireman is Shoshone, because you don't get many Cherokee in Idaho, I'm guessing." Rossi flipped through pictures on his tablet.  
  
"I'm pretty sure our nuclear physicist isn't Sudanese, either, and our mechanic's probably not English," JJ pointed out, sitting on the edge of the table. "I suspect the unsub remembers what the dolls looked like, rather than their stories."  
  
"I hope they're not going for a complete set." Prentiss eyed a scanned advert from a magazine, from the later end of the run. "There's twenty-six of these."  
  
"If we're right, the next victim's going to be male. An Asian dentist -- Chinese, if there's an exact match." Rossi offered JJ a sly smile and spread his hands like nothing could be more obvious.  
  
"We've got time, and we've got Garcia," JJ agreed, flicking her thumb across her phone to make the call.

* * *

Chaz was glad he'd picked up one of the motor pool cars, instead of taking his own. He was decently sure Bollinger wouldn't have photos, because he'd parked around the corner, but meeting Belle Frain at her favourite Starbucks was going to be a bit more of a gamble, and he'd taken the time to smear some mud across part of the plate. Nobody would say anything -- it was still clearly a government plate. It was just a slightly less immediately identifiable government plate.  
  
Bollinger had spilled everything, including things Chaz was pretty sure he hadn't meant to say, though they'd mostly kept to the subject of Reid. And he was going to have to talk to Reid, just because some of the things that came out of Bollinger's mouth seemed way too bizarre to have any foundation in truth. Of course, given some of the cases he'd worked, maybe not all of them were _that_ surprising. He'd known about the anthrax -- Langly had said something, in passing, while bitching about the shark virus. That wasn't that weird. Shitty, but not weird. He hadn't realised how many times Reid had been hospitalised, though he'd recognised the bullet scars. He sure as hell hadn't known someone had tried to kill Reid in a hospital, but he realised he'd heard part of that story -- the part where Garcia had shot the guy. 'Seven years bad luck.' He'd known about Reid's parents -- sort of, anyway -- but Bollinger had known much more. Bollinger had the name of the facility in Boston, where Diana was living, and on the way back to the car, he'd called Hafidha.  
  
They'd fix this. And they'd tell Reid about it, once it was over. There was no reason to give him something to worry about in the middle of a case, when they could just clean it up before it turned into a problem.

* * *

"Burking," Reid said, as he came through the door, behind Alvez.  
  
"Excuse me?" Simmons stared at the two of them like he'd suddenly been transported into an alternate universe: one in which that was supposed to make sense.  
  
"Something about these Scottish guys who killed people so they could sell the bodies for anatomy classes," Alvez explained, shaking his head. "One of the guys was Burke, and he used to kneel on people's chests and smother them with pillows."  
  
"We can be relatively certain that's how all three victims, so far, have died." Reid's stomach growled and he glanced at the table, before realising he was out with his team, not Chaz's, and there was no guarantee of a constant, steady, flow of calories. He'd skipped breakfast and lunch, and now he was going to have to wait for dinner.  
  
Simmons nodded. "Evidence from the victim's homes supports them being killed in bed. It looks like they were killed in bed, washed in their own bathtubs, and dressed in their own clothes, before being driven to ... it really looks like random parks. These parks aren't even close to where the victims lived."  
  
"Rossi brought that up on the plane. Do we know if they're the closest parks with playgrounds?" Reid made his way around the table to get a cup of coffee. If he couldn't eat, he could at least keep himself standing up long enough to make sure he'd get the chance.  
  
"I don't think so." Simmons got up and went to the map on the wall, pen in one hand, tablet in the other. "Two thirds of the parks in town have playgrounds. More if you skip things like skate parks and tennis courts that don't really count as parks in the same sense."  
  
"Where's JJ?" Reid asked, knowing Prentiss and Lewis were probably still interviewing the families and Rossi was likely chatting up the local detectives in that way only he could get away with.  
  
"She ran out to pick up lunch." Simmons shrugged, still labelling parks on the map. "I said I'd do it, but she looked like she was going to strangle someone if she sat here another minute."  
  
Alvez took a seat, pulling over a scribbled-on pad to check the most recent angles. "She'd been talking to the locals, right? Three women on this team, and two of them are doing interviews with the families..."  
  
Reid pressed the bridge of his nose and took a long, slow breath. "We are almost a fifth of the way into the twenty-first century. I can be electronically annoyed at any time, in nearly any location. There are self-driving cars mapping the civilised world. Why are my co-workers still dealing with this?"   
  
"You're a profiler, and you know the answer to that," SImmons reminded him.  
  
Sighing, Reid pressed the heel of his palm to his eye and held out his other hand. "Give me the pen. I'd rather deal with probabilities than actual people."  
  
Alvez snorted, trying to cover a surprised laugh. "You _sure_ that headache's gone?"  
  
"It might be back," Reid admitted, but this time, he could be sure it was his own. On the other hand, he'd been pretty sure about the last one, too...

* * *

A young woman sat alone with a laptop in the back corner of the shop -- an entirely literal corner, one wall at her back, the other just beside the table, before it gave way to windows, two tables later. The table sat just beside the hall leading back to the bathrooms and the rear exit. She really almost knew what she was doing, Chaz thought, watching her with the corner of his mind as he bought himself a cup of caramel-laden coffee.  
  
He'd never been much in the habit of drinking Starbucks -- for one, it was too expensive for what it was; for another, the taste reminded him of a case he wished he didn't remember, an entire years-long struggle to return to a good and right world that he couldn't forget. But, he needed to put something in his mouth if he was going to keep up the illusion. He could see himself reflected in the window, as he poured his change into the tip jar and stepped aside to wait for his coffee, a reflection of a distorted reflection. Just a few inches shorter, not enough to glitch when he moved his hands. A full face with a button nose, startling blue eyes, sandy hair that looked like it had been moussed into plastic -- he looked as far from himself as he could hold on to.  
  
With a nod to the barista, he took his coffee and strode toward the back, making no attempt at subtlety. He was a predator, and he had no need to conceal that, only to convince his target that his intentions were elsewhere.  
  
"Ms Frain?" Chaz towered over the table, standing just a little too close. He smiled, taking a seat when she looked up at him and nodded. "I want to thank you for meeting with me, today. The Bureau is very interested in your client's accusations against Spencer Reid."  
  
"That's not the impression I've gotten," Belle snapped, for a split second reminding Chaz just a bit of Alcea. "Every time we've tried to bring this to your attention, all we've gotten back were warnings about false accusations!"  
  
Chaz shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if tired of the bureaucracy. "Just for the record, your client is the woman who was arrested as 'Narcisse', correct?"  
  
"A ridiculous arrest. Can you imagine Cissy with a gun? This tiny woman breaking into a federal agent's house? It's utterly ludicrous." Belle pushed her laptop to the side so it would no longer be between them.  
  
"So, the problems with her story, so far, are more than enough to get the response you've been getting." Chaz held up his hand to fend off the objections he could see on her face. "I've looked at the evidence. I can show you _some_ of it -- things you've probably already seen. But, I also know that victims don't always remember everything exactly as it happened -- same thing with eyewitnesses. Things happen so fast, that your brain just tries to fill in the blanks. It's completely normal. So, why don't we talk about what happened -- neither of us were there, so all we've got are witness accounts -- and try to figure out what really happened that night."  
  
"Why?" Maybe Belle wasn't as dumb as they'd thought. "Nobody's wanted to listen to us before. Why you? Why now?"  
  
"I've got a bad habit of investigating things that don't look quite right. It's my job." And that was the truth, but not like this. He was pretty sure there was nothing anomalous about Narcisse or her conspirators. "Something's still bothering me about this one, so I thought I'd take a closer look."  
  
"What evidence do you have, then? And why should I trust it? Agent Reid is one of you. How do I know the 'evidence' --" Belle made quotes with her fingers. "-- isn't fake?"  
  
"Because the Bureau has no reason to protect Reid. If he's guilty of some version of these accusations, then he has no place with us. And as much as we might prefer that he not be, we'd be incredibly ineffective if we closed our eyes to the possibility that he might be." Chaz slid a stack of folded paper out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it onto the table. "The primary points that stand against her, right now, are the gunshot residue on her hands and the complete lack of her DNA inside the apartment, aside from where she drooled on the floor after being handcuffed. There's ... quite a bit of DNA evidence that doesn't belong to her, and none of it is anywhere that suggests her account is accurate."  
  
"The samples taken from the chair." Belle nodded. She'd been over the records, then, probably with Narcisse's lawyer. "I've heard there might be something interesting about those samples. About a person who isn't Agent Reid, in them."  
  
"Frank Arroway, Reid's ... significant other." Chaz watched Belle, curiously, skimming the top of her thoughts to see what she knew, versus what she'd say.  
  
"Are you sure? That's not the name Narcisse called him."  
  
"We're absolutely sure. Fingerprints, DNA, facial recognition -- that's Frank Arroway. We have no one else he could be mistaken for, on _all_ counts, or even two out of three. And more than that, he's a Bureau technical consultant, so we really do know exactly who he is, though we double-checked after Narcisse's accusations on that point."  
  
"Who is he?" Belle asked, leaning forward, curiosity stilling her face.  
  
"You can look him up online. There's not much, but most of it's true. He's the Chief Technical Officer of Single Bullet Development, and has been for the last dozen years or so." Chaz was absolutely sure Langly had backfilled that, to cover his own ass. "And he's a technical consultant for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Lives alone, has the personality of a bag of nails, and nobody can figure out what Reid sees in him. There's not much to Arroway."  
  
"And what about that Richard Langly guy, then? You have what you need to compare them?"  
  
"The Bureau got up close and personal with Langly in the nineties. We wanted to make sure we could identify his corpse, when it came to that, which it finally did. He died of a horrible, disfiguring disease, and was buried under biohazard seals, because nobody wanted to take responsibility for cremating the _disease_. We're sure Langly's in that coffin, and doubly sure since Narcisse dug it up, and the CDC had to rush a team in to clean it up." Chaz shook his head. "The samples match what the Bureau has on file for Langly. That's him. But, when he was still alive, he _did_ look a lot like Arroway. It's that Norwegian face."  
  
"So, you think she just mistook Arroway for this Langly guy, and then tried to commit a double murder over it? Seems a little excessive." Belle leaned her head on one hand and picked at a scone with the other.  
  
"Okay, so, what's her explanation for Alondra Metcalfe?" Chaz pulled a page out of the stack in front of him and pushed it across the table.  
  
Belle blinked and looked down at the photograph in front of her, the first inklings of doubt rising through her mind. " _Who?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, I will stop being tired all the time, and updates will get closer together...


	4. Chapter 4

Mary stared at the test results, willing them to show something other than she'd seen, other than what she'd known was coming. Really, she didn't want to have to call _Chaz_ , in order to get in touch with her cousin. But, maybe she didn't have to. Dick hadn't left her any contact info, and she understood why, but he was still a bit of an idiot -- he had a new identity, and that identity had to come with some sort of means of contact, especially if he was half the brains behind a multi-million dollar corporation. The question was whether she could get past his secretary, without saying the wrong things. If there was anything she'd learnt working for the hospital it was never to assume the person you sent an email to was the only person who would be reading it.  
  
But, first? Google.  
  
She'd been so caught up in the combination of the tests and getting through the paperwork that had piled up while she was gone that she hadn't bothered to actually look up Frank Arroway, lately of Washington, D.C.. The first few results were ones she'd seen checking on Chaz, during the early days of the West scandal. And, looking again, she could pick Dick out in several photos. But, she hadn't noticed the first time, because Dick was supposed to have been dead, and the images weren't high enough quality to make her think of him, when they could just as easily have been any other middle-aged man of Nordic ancestry. There he was with his motorcycle, with Spencer, yelling at someone she'd never met. And that was the same panicked look he'd had his whole life, to judge by the photos she had of him, from before she was born.  
  
But, that wasn't what she was looking for -- there. Single Bullet Development, incorporated in the state of Maryland, and featuring... no address on their website, which described a company bent on 'building better neighbourhoods', something that usually meant heavy gentrification and moving people around, rather than actually helping them. She'd seen enough of it in other cities. But, the projects featured were all the kind of thing that suggested playing guerilla tactics with the zoning laws -- low-income housing, medical facilities, beautifully-designed food banks. And they boasted of work in other countries, as well. Which was all well and good, but where was the money _coming from_? These weren't, mostly, profit-generating projects, but they didn't list other works specifically, or in the detail reserved for their apparent charity work. Just occasional mentions of the fact they could be hired for large projects, with preference given to public works.  
  
A page of employees showed 'Frank Arroway' and two other executives -- Ken Fitzgerald and Walter T. Foxhall -- at the top, followed by department listings. Tens of people were listed -- architects, engineers, geologists, surveyors. But, there was no contact information for any of these individuals. There would probably be a main office number on the contact page. At the very least, she could call the office and see if someone would put her through.  
  
She picked up the phone and checked the time as she dialled. Someone would probably be there, unless they were all out to lunch.  
  
A woman with a musical voice answered. "You've reached Single Bullet Development. This is Muringa speaking. What can we do for our friends in Nebraska, today?"  
  
Mary was surprised for about as long as it took her to realise their phone system probably identified call origins by area code. Dick's doing, no doubt. "I'm returning a call from Frank Arroway. Would you let him know Dr Langly is trying to reach him regarding the property he made an offer on in York County?"  
  
"Does he have your number, then, Doctor?"  
  
"Yes, he does." Mary was sure that even if he didn't, he would in five minutes, whether she left it or not.  
  
"If you're going to be by the phone for the next few minutes, he'll call you right back, just as soon as he's off the other line," Muringa promised, and Mary had no reason to question it. Though she did suspect he was actually going to call her back on a line he could be sure wasn't tapped, given Chaz and Spencer's concerns about the same, and the far more precarious position Dick was in.  
  
"Thank you. That's just fine. I'll be here all day."  
  
"And may it be a bright day!"  
  
Not even five minutes passed before the phone rang, and Mary answered it in the usual fashion. "What do you need?"  
  
"Pretty sure you're not actually calling me about the farm."  
  
"You're right. I'm not." She took a deep breath. "I ran it again. The results are the same."  
  
"Shit." A long pause followed, before either of them felt the need to fill it. "What do you want to do about it?"  
  
"You want to get a good shovel and come down to see me?" Mary joked, unsure how to suggest that they _actually_ go dig up Uncle Pete's grave. This wasn't just joking because they couldn't face the idea, any more.  
  
She listened to the strangled sound of prevarication from Dick.  
  
"That's a no, isn't it."  
  
"No, that's a yes, but it's a not right this minute. I gotta finish something up, before I can leave town. Maybe one more day? Two if this jackass is really going to push his luck? Reid's on a case, and I want to be here, when he gets back, but ... There are not enough days in this week. What is it, Wednesday? Saturday morning, at the latest. I'll call you when I've got a flight."  
  
"I'll pick you up at the airport," Mary offered, wondering what the hell her cousin... brother? Cousin. was caught up in, this time.  
  
"I want you to know, this will be the first time I've ever been in an airport in Nebraska. Also the first time I've been back in... yeah, I don't actually know how long, because every time we drove through, I drank myself into a stupor, just so I wouldn't recognise anything."  
  
"And you want the farm." Mary almost looked down just to be sure the sarcasm wasn't pooling on her desk.  
  
"Gotta say I got something out of it, right? Look, I figured the county seized the place and sold it to one of the corporate farms, years ago. I didn't think I was going back. Not if I could help it. I've been telling everyone my whole family's dead for thirty-something years, just to get out of talking about any of it. Nothing personal. You weren't really ... a person, yet."  
  
"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Why do you even want it?"  
  
"it's not like you're using it! You said Uncle Joe tried to sell the place, but nobody was buying! Well, look, surprise, I'm buying!"  
  
"That's not a reason," she argued.  
  
"How's 'I want somewhere to stay, while I try to figure out _why the hell_ I have a sister'? Motels keep records. Buying a house is also a record, but I can make it look like it's not me. The plane's going to be chartered to the company, not me personally. I want to make sure I'm not glaringly obvious and hanging out with that other Langly that I'm not supposed to be related to at all."  
  
Mary stared at the photos still open on her monitor. "You know I have a guest room, right?"  
  
"This started in Saltville. I want to go through the house."  
  
"You don't have to buy it to go through it. Promise. I own it. It's not like it's going to be B&E."  
  
"I told you. I want to leave it to Reid, in case anything happens to me. And, I mean, given that I've been shot at and electrocuted in the last, what, six months, it seems like something I should get off my ass and do!"

* * *

"We have a preliminary profile, based on what we _think_ is happening, here. Remember, this is still early in the investigation and later evidence may suggest different perspectives." JJ studied the room, watching the faces of the local police for a moment. They could have let Rossi present the profile, but they'd decided that would send the wrong message to the few officers who'd been difficult, so far. "As of right now, we'd suggest paying extra attention to potential suspects who are male and in their mid to late thirties, particularly if they have an interest in collectible children's toys. It's not an unusual interest -- lots of people collect comic books, action figures, and other memorabilia that reminds them of their youth, and the prices of items in these collections range from a few dollars for a mixed box to hundreds or even thousands, in some cases, for a single item. But, we have reason to believe the killer is interested in a particular line of dolls from the mid-eighties."  
  
Reid almost stepped up, before he remembered he wasn't doing any of the talking, today, and Lewis took his place.  
  
"The dolls were called 'Colors of America', and their _packaging_ almost exactly mirrors the manner in which the victims were displayed." Lewis nodded to Prentiss who switched from the FBI logo projected behind them to an image of one of the dolls, twist-tied at the wrists and ankles in the middle of a glittering star. "Unlike our victims, however, the dolls were packaged with a handful of cultural and professional props. Still, the sequence of victims matches up with the release order of the first few dolls."  
  
"So, the next victim's supposed to be a Chinese dentist?" asked a detective in the back of the room.  
  
"Or something similar, yes." JJ nodded and Prentiss brought up the next image, a display of the victims and the dolls they were thought to represent. "You'll notice it's not an exact match, but the similarities are strong enough to suggest the match is what is intended. So, we believe the next victim is likely to be an Asian dentist, though doctors may also be at risk. We're also relatively sure the next victim will be male -- the dolls were released in alternating genders, and so far that's what we've seen with our victims. With only three it's difficult to be certain which aspects of the victims and dolls are the most important to match, but so far professional field, gender, and _race_ , if not ethnicity, seem to be strong."  
  
"Why aren't we looking at women?" an officer asked, half-raising her hand. "If it's about dolls, and we're looking at people who were probably kids when these came out, shouldn't we be looking at middle-aged _women_?"  
  
"Statistically, women are less likely to be serial killers, though it does happen," Lewis explained. "And more than that, when they are, their methods are generally very different from what we're seeing, here. It _may_ be a woman, but the probability is very low. Assuming that the killer is a man, we are most likely looking for a man with older _sisters_ in their early to mid-forties."  
  
"Okay, if it's not a woman, what about transvestites? They're guys who like girl stuff." The same officer tried again.  
  
JJ shook her head. "It's possible, but the probability is low. We'd most likely be looking at a different style of killing, at the very least, and the ratio of killers, never mind _serial_ killers, among male-identified crossdressers -- men who are not wearing women's clothing _simply as a disguise_ \--  is fairly low. And before you ask, the ratio is even lower with transwomen. Sorry if anyone was looking for an excuse to talk to RuPaul, but we're relatively sure we're looking for a cisgender man who is not a drag queen."  
  
A ripple of laughter rolled through the room.  
  
"A man in his mid to late thirties, probably with sisters about five years older, but no race. That's a huge number of people." A detective leaning by the door shook his head. "But, you don't know the race because the victims aren't all the same, right? I remember a seminar on that -- that people are more likely to rape or kill within their own racial group, unless they're white. So, why don't you think this guy's white?"  
  
"Frankly, because we don't have a motive," Reid said, rubbing his forehead against the dull ache that was probably his own, before he realised nobody asked him.  
  
"Agent Reid's right." JJ cut in, taking back the presentation with a concerned look at Reid. She thought he might be coming down with something, not that he'd ever admit it. "We're likely looking at someone who resents the dolls or what they represent, but that could be someone who feels they've been unable to live up to the stories behind the dolls, or someone who resents the way the dolls inspired people in the community, or anything in between. We really don't have enough information to judge that, although the census numbers suggest the killer is likely to be white, because most of the city is white. Still, without more evidence than we have, it's impossible to provide a complete profile. But, definitely consider whether anyone you've come across in connection to these murders has multiple of the traits suggested, today, and see if there's any connection between them and more than one of the victims."  
  
"Are there any other questions?" Lewis asked, looking around the room.

* * *

Hafidha stepped out of her lair and beckoned Chaz with a single finger. "My office. I think I see something, and I need a third opinion."  
  
"Third? What happened to second?" Chaz stood up and kicked his chair back under his desk. He knew Brady was watching him. He was sure the man had gotten curious about yesterday's exceptionally long lunch, but he also knew Brady wasn't going to say anything to him about it. Lau had already asked if he'd met a girl between sandwiches.  
  
"Second's talking to Penny about what we're going to do if I'm right." Hafidha winked at the rest of the room, as Chaz slipped past her into the room. "'Scuse us. We're doing nerd things."  
  
"Nerd things, huh? Does Reid know you stole his boyfriend, yet?" Lau teased, tipping her chair back to grin at Hafidha.  
  
"Tch, _stole_." Hafidha rolled her eyes and shut the door. "No, but really, Frank and I finally verified the source of yesterday's ... issues. Somebody was stupid enough to give --"  
  
"-- Narcisse computer access." Chaz finished the sentence, dropping himself into the chair that had almost become his, with the amount of time he spent in here. "Figured that out, yesterday, but I wanted to see if you ended up the same place I did. I have what people believe happened. You have what the machine believes happened."  
  
"What did you do?" Hafidha demanded, stepping close enough to stand between Chaz's knees.  
  
"I'm the invisible man. I went to see some people about the files." Chaz shrugged and reached for the nearest candy bowl, coming up with a fistful of jellybeans. "Taking the data away from the people who stole it from us is useless, once they've seen it. I had to make sure of their intentions. I had to let them lead themselves to the conclusion they weren't getting paid enough to get jerked around like that."  
  
"Chaz, do I have to be worried about you?"  
  
He knew the answer should be 'yes', but he pretended to misunderstand the question. "Not yet. I'll have a little extra for lunch. I'll be fine by tomorrow."  
  
She gave him a long look, before she spoke again. "I know why Penny was so freaked out by this girl. _Frank_ and I had some problems following her home."  
  
"Which means she's not anomalous, or you'd have skipped all the steps in the middle."  
  
"She's really one of the Acolytes?" Hafidha shook her head. "I guess I'm not surprised. Vanity was scary shit, twenty years ago, and if this is an example of what she had working for her, that would do it. Because that means there's not just one of her. There are other people out there who didn't get picked up."  
  
"The difference is they're not serial killers." Chaz poured jellybeans into his mouth before they could get sticky in his hand. "So, what did you want me to look at?"  
  
"You already answered the question. We're both sure it's Narcisse."  
  
"I think I'm going home early. I feel a terrible cough coming on."


	5. Chapter 5

"Where the hell is Villette?" Langly's slightly-distorted voice came through Hafidha's headset without even the courtesy of a ringing phone.  
  
"He said he was going home early." Hafs sounded casual, as if she weren't having the exact same thought.  
  
"He turned off his phone. And his other phone. And I think he took the batteries out, because I can't find either one _at all_ , and that might be a _Reid_ thing to do, but that is not a Villette thing to do." Langly finally breathed. "What the _hell_ is he doing?"  
  
"Frank?" Hafidha paused to make sure Langly was listening, as opposed to just winding up to a tirade. "He's got a cough, and he went home to sleep it off. Unless I hear otherwise, that's what's going on."  
  
Langly was quiet another couple of seconds while that sunk in. "He's not--"  
  
"Sleeping in the middle of the day? Yeah, he probably is, and that's why his phone's off." Hafidha spoke slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to a child.  
  
"Reid's gonna shit enough bricks to rebuild Jefferson's plantation."  
  
"Reid is in Idaho. I'm sure Chaz will be back before he notices. He's never sick for long."  
  
"That's not-- a secure line. Right." Langly huffed. "Reid's going to _kill him_."

* * *

Chaz looked and felt like a harried bureaucrat, by the time he'd made it to the warden's office. And the same thing crossed his mind that always did in prisons -- he wondered how many inmates could see through him. Anomalous people were more inclined to violent crime, and not all of them had talents that would help them escape. Not all of them had talents that would have made them obvious candidates for Idlewood. It was always more likely that he'd run into some kind of innate resistance around people who were both anomalous and attuned to a different way of seeing the world. And yet? There was still only Reid, who was not anomalous. The idea still bothered him. One day, he was going to find someone who didn't need the light to see, and he was going to be entirely screwed.  
  
But, as far as he could tell, that person wasn't going to be Narcisse.  
  
"Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice." Chaz held out a hand to the warden.  
  
"Usually in my best interest to at least hear out the FBI." The warden shook Chaz's hand and gestured to a seat in front of her desk, with the other hand. "You didn't mention on the phone what this was about, so I'm extremely curious."  
  
Chaz sat, opening the folder he held and laying three pages across the desk. "You're holding a woman who calls herself Narcisse. She's supposed to have no unsupervised access to any communications equipment and no access to computers or anything else with internet access. Three days ago, she used a line that traces back to this building to gain access the the FBI employee database."  
  
"I'd say 'convince me it was here', but I can see that." The warden studied the pages in front of her, tapping a pair of IP addresses. "These two I recognise. We've got two non-adjacent blocks, and these belong to the block assigned to recreation, rather than the administrative block, which makes this even more interesting. I'd have expected something like this to involve the unfiltered line."  
  
"She's extremely skilled. I doubt the content filters even slowed her down." Chaz sat forward, resting his folded hands on the edge of the desk, checking that his elbows weren't going to give him away as he bent them. "What's more concerning is that she had computer access for long enough to do this. I hate to bring your people into question, but someone helped her do this. And given the accusations she's made, I can hardly blame them. But, she took confidential, if not classified, information and sent it to certain tabloid reporters. And none of it was procedural. None of it was even case files. This wasn't a matter of whistleblowing -- funny as it seems to say, I probably wouldn't be sitting here for that. It was an agent's home address, medical, and psychiatric history."  
  
"Jesus. Agent Spencer Reid, by chance?"  
  
Chaz nodded.  
  
"She's been consistent in the target of her accusations, but the accusations haven't been consistent." The warden leaned back, rubbing her forehead, tiredly. "You know, I wanted to believe her, when she came in. Maybe not the reasons -- that sounded a little paranoid -- but when somebody says they've been sexually assaulted by someone in a position of power, you take them seriously. And we did. We've kept her out of general, and she's had no interactions with male guards. Conversations with her lawyers are privileged, of course, but she agreed to -- asked for -- video with no audio for her own safety, and it's no big deal for us to do that. Just had to make sure nobody could be lipread in those videos, but we've done it before. But, her story keeps changing, and not just a little. It's not the order of events or even little things you could remember or forget in different tellings. The entire story is different, now."  
  
"How do you know?" Chaz asked. The warden had gone to great lengths to establish that she had no access to information she shouldn't.  
  
"There's some girls who come every week to look into whether the conditions are up to the legal standard and to look into whether we've got anyone here we shouldn't. A bunch of prisoners' rights organisations, the Innocence Project, that sort of thing. But, one of those girls comes to see Narcisse pretty regularly -- she's convinced that Narcisse is innocent of all charges. And she records their conversations and writes reports and press releases based on what Narcisse tells her. And what I'm seeing in the recent reports, the ones that have come out after the DNA results, is that Narcisse is now saying she's here because she refused to sleep with Agent Reid, and nearly all reference to having been sexually assaulted has been removed -- everything the evidence wasn't found for. What's still there would be impossible to prove, either way." The warden sighed and shook her head. "False accusations _aren't_ common, and every one of them makes it harder for the next person to be believed. But, I'm starting to doubt her. And this shouldn't be a surprise, you'd think! We're in a prison, surrounded by criminals! Every one of them is lying about something! But, there's things that people _usually_ aren't lying about, even here. Maybe _especially_ here -- there's nothing to be gained."  
  
"Regardless of the truth of her accusations against Agent Reid, she's committed another crime. She's broken into a government system, removed private information, and distributed it. And if it isn't her, it's someone here who has a very similar skillset and her interests in mind."  
  
"And that's what she's going to argue."  
  
"I know." Chaz nodded. "I was hoping you might let me speak with her, and I want full audio and video of the entire meeting, because I have no doubt there will be questions, later."  
  
The warden checked the time. "Give me about half an hour. I want to move some of the guards, first. If she's got a conspirator, let me make sure I don't accidentally shut you in a room with both of them, regardless of the cameras."  
  
"I appreciate this." Chaz pulled a few more sheets out of the folder and offered them to the warden. "For your own investigations. This will probably help you figure out who's involved, assuming the security system hasn't also been compromised, which is absolutely something you should be concerned about."  
  
"You're serious, aren't you?"  
  
"Murderer or not, she's one of the most skilled hackers in the United States, and her specialities are security systems and government firewalls. She's erased her own identity almost completely -- it's why she still doesn't have a name. Fifteen or twenty years ago, the Bureau turned one of her partners. We have inside information about the things she's capable of, and we're still trying to reinforce our _own_ systems to resist her. From what we can tell, she intentionally slowed down an attack against the DoD, in order to incriminate someone else." Chaz closed the folder. "So, yes, I'm incredibly serious. I'm not sure why she didn't use the access she had to stage a prison break."  
  
"Because you can't get into that system from anywhere that isn't wired into it. It's not connected to admin or rec, and it doesn't connect to any of the outside lines." The warden finally looked unsettled, though. "You can get into the cameras and the saved recordings from admin, though. There are passwords and other security measures, but I'm getting the impression those may not matter, here."  
  
"Do me a favour. Make sure the cameras in whatever room you put us in are working, and back up the recording to an external drive. Unplug it as soon as the room's cleared. I have to believe she's not expecting that. That, whatever she might anticipate, a manual external backup isn't going to make the list."

* * *

"Hey, Byers? I have to go to Nebraska to dig up a corpse. You want to come pretend to be my lawyer?" Langly stumbled when he stood up, legs way more asleep than he'd thought they were.  
  
Across the room, Byers turned his chair around, leaving the scanner running. "Not... really, no. Do you need a lawyer?"  
  
"I hope not?" Langly picked up the can of Jolt that had been next to his elbow, shook it, crushed it, and tossed it into the bin, rather than across the room. He grabbed another can and opened it one-handed. "Mary called me. She wants me to fly out so we can dig up dad's grave. My dad. Her dad's alive. But, we think we're related to my dad, and there's only one way to prove it. And, you know... It's Nebraska. I don't want to..." He shrugged elaborately.  
  
"Get drunk and do something idiotic, without Byers to clean it up," Frohike filled in.  
  
"Hey, _screw you_!" Langly looked a little too offended, like maybe that had been just a bit closer to home than he wanted to admit. "I'm literally going back to the town I was born in, and hoping nobody recognises me, despite the fact I'm staying in my old house. _Byers_ would add some cover. Investors looking to buy an old dairy farm. I look like the guy who used to live there? Wow, glitch in the matrix, no relation."  
  
"This is not a good idea, Langly." Byers gestured with the staple remover as he fed more files into the scanner.  
  
"Doing it alone is a worse idea, and I'm going to Nebraska on Friday, whether you're coming with me or not. There's something fucked up with my family. There's something fucked up with _me_ , or maybe you haven't noticed it's _weird_ to be living with a cryptid. I have to do this. My _cousin_ is my _sister_. And _she's_ probably a cryptid, too."  
  
"You know, when you put it like that, this is exactly the kind of weird bullshit Mulder would've gotten us into." Frohike finally turned around, tipping his chair back against the desk. "You want us all to go? It'll be like old times."  
  
"If we're all going, we're renting a car, because I'm not sticking my cousin in a car with both of you all weekend." Langly pointed to Byers. "Put it in his name. That'll raise the least number of eyebrows."  
  
"What does she know about us?" Byers had the sense to ask, after a moment of sputtering.  
  
"She knows we're business partners in Single Bullet, same as everybody else knows. I didn't tell her who you were. I didn't tell her we live together. And I sure as _hell_ didn't tell her we're still journalists." Langly shook his head. "She's related to me. That doesn't mean I trust her. In fact, if you look at my family, it's actually a great reason _not_ to trust her. ... Except for the part where we might not be related to them at all..."  
  
"I don't see any mention of your family in what we have on the Syndicate," Byers said, quietly, "but with the alien DNA and the whole cryptid thing, I mean, you have to at least consider--"  
  
"No, I don't," Langly snapped. "I really don't, Byers. I'm not a god damn alien! My cousin is not Samantha Mulder!"  
  
"Maybe you want to talk to Villette about what the Anomaly really is, at some point in here, because I haven't heard anything that makes me think you're _not_ an alien, yet." It was impossible to tell if Frohike was joking, and Langly honestly suspected he wasn't.

* * *

"If you're right," JJ pointed at Reid, "we're probably going to get this guy, tomorrow night."  
  
"Does that mean I get to take tonight and try to sleep this off?" Reid did not look well, red-eyed and runny-nosed, barely balanced, like a door opening the wrong way might knock him over. He wouldn't have said it to anyone but JJ, but he really was pretty sure he was coming down with something, and he wasn't sure when he'd been near enough people to both have gotten sick and not to have noticed he was standing near someone ill. Probably somewhere between coffee and coffee, the other morning, though.  
  
"Yeah, it does. I'm taking you back to the hotel, and nobody's calling unless it's an emergency. You think you can pull yourself together for tomorrow morning?" JJ grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair.  
  
"Of course! I don't _need_ to take tonight off, but if we're not doing anything until tomorrow, I might be better prepared, if anything goes wrong." Reid sneezed into the wad of tissues he'd suddenly pulled out of his sleeve, and then threw it out, stuffing more tissues up his sleeve, as he got back to the table. "I'm really mostly okay, JJ. I promise."  
  
" _Mostly_. And that's what I'm worried about, Spence." She held the door for him, trying to keep him a few steps in front of her, so she could catch him, if he stumbled. "You want to pick up some dinner? You should probably eat before you play dead."  
  
"I'll be--" Reid stopped with his hand on a tissue wrapped around the door handle, realising he'd only eaten maybe once since he'd gotten up Tuesday morning, and it was now Wednesday afternoon. "I should probably eat something. Isn't there a sandwich shop between here and the hotel?"  
  
"Don't you want something a little more substantial? Maybe even something warm?" JJ suggested, as Reid finally got the door open and stepped outside into the frosty fading daylight.  
  
"I want something I'm not going to make a mess of. I'd rather eat food than wear it."  
  
"Food and sleep, Spence. You have to get at least one of them in a day, and it's better if you manage both." She helped him into the car as he sneezed again and slipped on the snow.  
  
"I'm fine," Reid insisted, pulling the door shut and trying to resist the urge to rest his head on the dashboard and just let the snot run out. He'd _feel better_ , but it would be disgusting, and then he'd have to clean it. "I'll eat and sleep, and I'll be fine in the morning."  
  
"Your name is Elmer J Fudd; you want a sandwich and a nap?" JJ teased, and Reid leaned back, hand pressed to his forehead to make the laugh that followed less painful.  
  
"I mean, I'm not sure I'd say no to a mansion and a yacht, but I'll take what I can get."


	6. Chapter 6

Reid had taken a shower and stayed in the bathroom with the shower running until he ran out of hot water. He could almost breathe, as he crossed the room in his pyjamas, to the less-damp box of tissues that waited next to his bed. He hadn't gotten sick like this in years, and he really couldn't afford to be _now_. Still, JJ was right. There was nothing for him to do until tomorrow night. The killings had been on Thursdays, so far, and they weren't abductions -- the victims had all been at work the day they died, and it was their failure to show up in the morning that had made identifying the bodies so easy. And all of this suggested that he'd done everything he could, for now. With any luck, the locals would catch the unsub in action, and he'd be home on Friday.  
  
Worst case scenario, something would go unexpectedly wrong, and he'd be stuck here another week. He tried not to think about that. He tried not to think at all, but that was impossible, so he turned on the coffee maker so it would smell less like exactly the sort of cheap motel it was, and tried to focus on Langly, as he curled up in bed with the box of tissues, the trash bin from the bathroom next to the bed.  
  
Langly, he figured, would laugh at him, and the sympathy would come a few minutes later. He knew it was a terrible idea -- he was probably contagious -- but he wanted to lay with his head on Langly's thigh, while Langly worked on things with his laptop balanced on the other knee. He wanted to hear stories of thirty-year-old scandals and investigations of UFO sightings, as Langly stroked his hair between bouts of typing. He'd never really had that sort of quiet stability, when he was sick, that reassurance that if he needed something, someone was there, but more than that, that if he just wanted to be left in peace to sleep, that was fine, too, because when he woke up, everything would be just the way it had been when he fell asleep. He'd gone from his ever-changeable mother, who had always cared, but wasn't always sufficiently in her right mind to do anything about it, to a job where he lived alone and was half-likely to get woken up in the middle of the night, while he was on sick leave, to go chasing after some self-important waste of oxygen with a gun, as Langly had put it a few times.  
  
Maybe he really did need a holiday -- a proper one. One where he'd just be unreachable for a few days, maybe even a whole week. But, he knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself. He'd wind up working, because the work would just... be there, piling up. He'd been on medical leave, and what was he doing as soon as he could sit up without help? Editing. First for the journals, then for Byers, then he'd started writing an entirely unpublishable piece about the work of the three anomalous people on the Fitzgerald case, and how their talents affected the outcome. And that led to another completely unpublishable piece about the psychological effects of surrendering one's identity, only to be confronted with it again. He finally worked out something with Byers -- a piece he'd be pseudonymously credited on -- about a distinctly American legend that seemed to have arisen in a small town in Massachusetts, with none of the traditional European elements that crept into even mainstream retellings of Native tales. Byers, being Byers, had been talking about going up there to have a closer look at the horror from between the stars.  
  
And that was what had stuck with Reid -- _between_ the stars, not _beyond_ the stars. And the locals were absolutely insistent about that, too. Maybe that's what he'd do. Maybe he'd go to Massachusetts with Byers for a w--  
  
And that was exactly the point. He wouldn't know what to do with a vacation. He'd end up _going to Massachusetts with Byers_ , just to have something to do.  
  
He blew his nose again and reached for his phone. Maybe he'd be able to sleep if he called Langly.  
  
"Well, _hello_ , Agent Sexy!" Langly sounded unusually cheerful.  
  
"Right now, I am anything but. You sound like you escaped whatever I caught, though."  
  
"And you sound like you're gargling snot."  
  
"Not quite gargling, but I'm sure that's nearby." Reid coughed and then sat up to prop himself up on the pillows. Lying down was not helping. "I've got a few hours before I need to do anything, so I thought I'd see how you were doing."  
  
"I'm... making questionable decisions," Langly admitted, after a moment spent attempting words and then abandoning them. "We're flying out to Nebraska to dig up my dad, on Friday."  
  
"Define 'we'."  
  
"Me and Fitz and Whiskey-Tango-Fuckit. Time to get some leg stretching in. We haven't been out together in a decade. Time to see how rusty we've gotten." Langly laughed nervously. "I'll leave you a message when we land, and every six hours after that. If you don't hear from one of us for eight hours, call the White Rabbit."  
  
"Are you expecting there to be problems? It's just an exhumation. You're the closest living relative." Reid snorted and coughed, debating getting up for a cup of tea. The coffee was already hot, but if he drank the coffee, he wasn't going to do any sleeping.  
  
"No. I'm not, remember?"  
  
"... Right. Sorry. This is why I'm sitting in a dark room in a motel instead of in a conference room with the rest of my team."  
  
"You really don't sound okay. Do I need to change the flight plan and come rescue you, on my way to York?" Langly actually sounded concerned enough that someone who didn't know him might notice.  
  
"I'm fine. I promise you. It's just a head cold. I'll be over it in another two days. This is just the day where I pray for a better death than choking on my own phlegm. I'll be better than this in the morning. By Friday afternoon you won't even be able to tell I was sick." Reid changed the subject back away from himself. "Are you expecting trouble in Nebraska?"  
  
"No. I'm really not. The graveyard should just be in and out, but we're going to hang around a couple of days and do a little investigating while Doctor-Lady runs the tests."  
  
Reid caught that Langly hadn't used any names besides 'Fitz', heaping justifiable paranoia on top of excellent security. "Where are you staying?"  
  
Langly paused for a little too long, swallowing audibly before the words followed. "My house."  
  
"You bought a--"  
  
"No!" Langly huffed, as though it were an entirely ridiculous idea. "I'm not paying for it until I have it appraised. It's... It's _my house_. I just didn't inherit it, for one really obvious reason."  
  
Reid paused, rolling that thought over a few times. " _Why?_ "  
  
"Because I want a vacation home in Nebraska," Langly snapped, then huffed. "Not you. I'm just getting tired of answering that question."  
  
"Sorry." Reid held the phone away from his face so he could blow his nose. "But, it's a good question. Last time I checked you hated Nebraska."  
  
"Owning that house is the end of a fifty-year pissing contest," Langly finally admitted. "It's my house; I win. And I'm putting in a better kitchen and burning down that goddamn barn."  
  
"Okay, I can see that. That's ... not something I would do, but I also couldn't buy a house with what's under my sofa cushions."  
  
"Is there anything at all under your sofa cushions? I think you clean too often for that."  
  
"Why do you think I do clean that often?" Reid coughed, again, trying not to smother in snot. This was all wrong. _Other_ people got sick. _He_ didn't get sick! Maybe he wasn't sick. Maybe _Chaz_ was sick. If he was still awake in fifteen minutes, he'd call Chaz and find out... Or if Chaz was sick, maybe he'd _caught it_ from Chaz, which would not be great, but at least it was a less disturbing proposition.  
  
"You're _sure_ you're okay? Really sure?" Langly asked again. "If you need me to come get you, I'll do it. And I'll call Her Majesty and tell her why, too. You know she'd let me do it."  
  
"I'm really sure that I once worked a case while I had anthrax. I just have a head cold. I'm fine." Reid left out the part where he'd almost fallen getting into the car. That was being stupid in snow, not being sick. "Like I said, by Friday, you won't even be able to tell I was ever sick."  
  
"If you're sure..."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
Reid swallowed a laugh. "Are you sure?"  
  
There was a long pause. "I might let you drip snot in my hair."  
  
Reid blinked and smiled, struggling, for a bit to come up with the right answer to that. "I would still try very hard not to. There's no sense in both of us being sick."  
  
"Just another thing I like about you."  
  
"Have you heard from Chaz?" Reid asked, thinking he might just lean on their shared connection, rather than calling.  
  
"Hafs says he went home sick and turned off his phone."   
  
"And you don't think so, do you?"  
  
"How the hell do you do that?"  
  
"Frank, you're not exactly _subtle_." Reid sighed and tried lying down again, this time with the pillows folded in half and stacked, in the hopes he could avoid drowning in snot for a couple of hours. "If his phone's off, he's probably doing something where he can't have it ringing."  
  
"That's what vibrate is for," Langly muttered.  
  
"Do you have any idea how loud vibrate actually is? Setting your phone to vibrate will still get you shot." Reid decided he'd just nudge Chaz and then back off. Chaz would call him, later, and probably actually tell him what was going on, in the vaguest possible terms, because if Langly didn't know, then this was probably need to know, and he didn't.  
  
Langly sighed. "I gotta work on that. That's bad design."  
  
"And I should consider sleeping." Reid let the silence stretch for a moment, looking for the words he wanted. "I wish I could be home with you. I wish I was going to wake up next to you, so I could kiss you, before I go back to work. But, I'm sick and I'm in Idaho, so that's not really an option. I just want you to know I love you, even when I can't be there."  
  
"... Where the hell is this coming from? Reid, you have a job. I know your job. There's somebody in Idaho killing people, and you have to stop them. It's kind of important to stop people from _killing people_. And I know you're good at what you do, and it takes as long as it takes. Do I miss you? Yeah, I miss you; of course I do. What kind of idiot wouldn't miss you? But, you have the kind of job I used to have. 'Oh, yeah, just going to take a weekend in New Hampshire to check out an Elvis impersonator', and it suddenly turns into three weeks in Connecticut, killer moths, and a freaky chrysalis cult! I'd be a complete asshole to expect any different from a guy who hunts serial killers. Let's be real, here." An amazed laugh fell out of Langly's mouth as he stopped to take a breath. "I know what you're worried about. It's the cop's wife problem, and we're not going to have it. Nerdy loner in a dangerous line of work meets nerdy loner in a dangerous line of work. I just get shot at a little less than you do. Usually. Except that one time. And maybe that other time. And that time I'm really glad nobody could aim worth a shit, because they had machine guns, and I have no idea why I'm still alive. But, the next time we're both in the same place at the same time, I'm locking us in the bathroom for twenty minutes, and I don't really care who can hear us."  
  
Reid's nose started running again and he tipped his head back until he could convince himself it was just because he was sick. "You're not what I was looking for, but you're still better than what I wanted. I just wish I could stop waiting for the other shoe to drop."  
  
"Life is like a goddamn centipede. There's _always_ another shoe. And then there's the other other shoe, and the other other other shoe." Langly scoffed. "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and get an umbrella strong enough to resist the rain of shoes. It's the best you can do."  
  
Reid made a strangled sound that might've been a laugh in a world in which his sinuses weren't draining into his throat.  
  
"I wish I was going to be here, when you get back, but I'm ... probably not. I got shit to shovel. I need you to take care of yourself, okay? None of this ... acting like you're me crap. Eat, sleep, bang Villette like a cheap screen door. I'll be home in a few days. I just have to take care of some things with the house, so it's all settled before I come home. I don't want to have to fly back out because I didn't sign something that needed to be notarised." Langly started a few words he didn't finish. "You should sleep. And if you need anything -- Reid, I'm serious, _anything_ \-- call me. I don't _care_ if I'm in Nebraska. I'm taking my laptop. I'll make it happen."  
  
"I'd say 'call me', but you already said you would. I hope things go well, and if you need to be rescued from the locals, call _Garcia_. She can get you out of most things faster than I can, especially if I'm still stuck in Idaho."  
  
"If I get grabbed by anybody else, I'm calling Hafs. If you're not home, _do not leave Idaho_. Duke and Villette can handle an extraction." Langly paused, and hearing nothing, he went on. "I'm fucking serious, Reid. You handle your serial killer. I'll be fine."  
  
"I don't think that's something you can promise."  
  
"Neither can you. You say it anyway, because it's extremely unlikely after all the shit we've been through that anything is going to go _that wrong_." Langly chuffed in amusement. "I'm just going to buy a house and dig up a grave. I'm not expecting _anything_ to go wrong. The worst thing that could happen is somebody recognising me in the grocery store, and that's not going to happen, because she's right. I don't look anything like my dad. I look like me. I look like her. Maybe, if we're lucky, I look like the postman, mystery half-solved. But, plan for the worst, right?"  
  
"Plan for the worst," Reid agreed. "I'll see you when we're both home."  
  
"Sleep well."


	7. Chapter 7

He'd seen Reid's memories, but this was the first time Chaz had actually laid eyes on Narcisse. His impressions of her were stuttered flashes framed in fear and outrage, and he filtered through them, looking for anything useful, as he stepped into the room.  
  
She was already on the other side of the table, with two guards, one more than he'd expected, but enough to ease his mind about witnesses. What he was about to do needed to be thoroughly witnessed and filmed. There could be no questions about what he'd said or what gestures he might have made during this conversation. If Falkner ever figured out what happened, today, he was probably going to Idlewood, but it was time to put an end to this problem.  
  
"Charles Grafton, FBI," he introduced himself, using the name of the guy who'd questioned him until he thought his brains might run out his ears, after the Helmsman arrest. Wherever the hell Grafton was, he wasn't here, though video evidence would show otherwise. "I'm investigating some complaints about an agent I believe you're familiar with, and I've come to ask some questions about your statement. Just for the record, state your name?"  
  
"Narcisse." The tiny blond woman was a presence in the room, neither bowed nor broken, as if the agent across the table had come at her request.  
  
"As we're not investigating you, I don't _believe_ I'll be asking anything that might incriminate you, but if you have concerns about that, I'd be happy to wait for your lawyer." Chaz was counting on her overconfidence to carry him through. "Obviously, if you do incriminate yourself, this is not a privileged conversation, and it can be brought up in court."  
  
"I haven't done anything wrong," Narcisse declared, her voice filling the room. "It's a good thing you people are finally taking this seriously! I don't need a lawyer to tell you Spencer Reid's a monster and a rapist!"  
  
Chaz checked his own face a few times -- Grafton's face -- as the words rang in his skull: a monster. _No, lady,_ I'm _the monster._ He slid a form across the table. "All right! If you can just read this over and sign the bottom -- it just says you've agreed to talk to me without your lawyer -- we can get down to business."  
  
He was somewhat surprised that she bothered to actually read the form, but it was the real thing, so he wasn't worried. Instead, he took the opportunity to skim her thoughts, while she was looking at something known. He could find that in her thoughts easily, giving him a fixed point, while he looked for an exploitable weakness. Pride. Arrogance. Self-righteousness. He wasn't trying to put anything into her head except the idea that he could be trusted implicitly, or rather the idea that _Grafton_ could be. Maybe even the idea that he was a little too stupid to do any real harm.  
  
But, that wasn't why he was here. It wasn't about what he could put in. It was about what he could get _out_.  
  
He started with simple questions, things that would let him figure out how she thought, how to find what he was looking for and get the words out of her mouth. And then, like an idiot, he asked if she had a last name.  
  
"I thought this wasn't about incriminating me," Narcisse snapped, sitting up straighter.  
  
Chaz had the sense to look confused, holding up the page he'd been writing on, as Narcisse's mind suddenly blanked. "I'm just filling out the form. First name, last name, age, address -- the usual things so we know who filed the complaint and how to get in touch with them. Which... now that I think about it, is a little redundant, in this case. We know exactly how to get in touch with you."  
  
"And when I get out of here, I'll give you my new number." Narcisse sat back, crossing her arms and resting her ankle on the opposite knee, expectant rather than fearful. Commanding. _Demanding_.  
  
"See that? Problem solved." But, Chaz held onto that last thread he'd been pulling before everything went white. She guarded her name like she'd walked into the Faery Court, and she was probably right. This wasn't any less dangerous for her. With her name, they could find where she'd come from, or at least verify she'd been there. He wondered if he could get her to insert people and places into the conversation, things that would tell Langly where to look for her.  
  
Slowly, he led her through her account of the night she broke into Reid's apartment, but he paid less attention to the words she spoke than to the memories that came up as she described things. As he'd expected, Reid's account was accurate, if somewhat understated. She hadn't been there for him, but she'd absolutely meant to kill him, after he told her where Langly had gone. No witnesses. Reid had just been in the way.  
  
With every question, Chaz kept Narcisse on track, still repeating the most recent version of her story, which was fine. He didn't want her to tell him the truth, _now_. That wouldn't look right. That would look even more like a set up than what he was about to try to do.  
  
But, it was time to shift gears, to get her to talk about the past. "And how did you know the technical consultant, Frank Arroway?"  
  
"Frank Arroway is _bullshit_. That man is Richard Langly, and _I know what he did_. I know how he did it. Let me at a damn computer and I'll prove it to you. He's not that good. He probably left a fucking arrow pointing to himself," Narcisse insisted, one of the guards stepping forward as she leaned across the table. "It's him. It's him and he's running from the feds, and now you just handed him access to your systems. Don't be surprised when classified information starts leaking like you turned on the faucet."  
  
That was it, then. She'd done it and she was trying to frame Langly, this time, like she'd done with Ortiz, last time. And he had no doubt Hafidha knew it, and didn't tell him. That was one of those things -- every once in a while they'd go at something from different directions and see if they came to the same conclusion, and she'd already said that was what she was doing with the leak. He'd ask when they were back in the same room.  
  
"Tell me about Langly," Chaz invited, shifting his ears back in that way Grafton did when he was interested.  
  
"He's a _whore_!" Narcisse spat the word viciously. "They all joked about the girls getting their boyfriends to do the tech work for them, but _he's_ the one who fucked his way to the top, not us!"  
  
"And you think he's using Agent Reid the same way, now?"  
  
"I don't know what the hell else he'd be doing with him."  
  
"Who else knew Langly around the same time you did? It's not what I'm here for, but if you still think he's exploiting one of our agents for access to our files, then I should at least look into that a little more." Chaz wrote down the names, even though he didn't need to. He'd seen most of these names before, and half of them were dead, three of them were Bureau technical analysts, and one was Kimmy Belmont.  
  
He could feel Reid reaching out to him, that warmth and curiosity pooling at the base of his skull. Now was not the time, but he couldn't just slam the door, or Reid would call Hafs. In most cases, that would be good, but not right now. Pretending to look back through his notes so far, he returned the curiosity -- was there a problem? Did he need to do something? No, Reid was just checking on him. It was an effort not to smile at the calm that settled in his chest. He passed back something vague about being right in the middle of something and left the impression he'd call later. Reid's attention stayed only a moment longer, just long enough to leave a single impression of something they'd shared, some flash of contented memory. Chaz had come to think of them as work-safe kisses.  
  
"I think I've got what I need, for now, but if you think of anything else, please call me direct and leave a message." Chaz slid one of Grafton's cards across the table and looked up at the guards. "I'm quite serious. If she asks to call me, I'll expect to hear from her."

* * *

Reid had finally given up on sleep, and he sat against the head of the bed, wrapped in the stiff, scratchy blanket, alternately drinking coffee and blowing his nose, as he looked over the case so far. The heat seemed to be loosening the inordinate amount of mucus in his sinuses, but as fast as he could get it out, there was already more. This was disgusting and horrible, and he was sure he had a medical researcher somewhere who owed him a favour. There had to be something for this. There had to be a way to make it stop and _not happen again_. On the other hand, if there were, there would be a vaccine, and he'd have gotten it. Maybe he'd convince Langly to set up a foundation to fund research into a cure for the common cold and every other headache-inducing, phlegm-generating illness that hadn't yet been cured.  
  
He wasn't religious, despite his extensive study of medieval European Catholic philosophy, which had been an inevitable side effect of enjoying the literature of the period, but at this very moment, he was almost willing to accept this sinus infection as proof of a vengeful god. But, that was probably the fever talking.  
  
And the fever had, finally, caught up with him. He set the empty cup aside and picked up his phone, sending a quick text to JJ.  
  
 _Can I convince you to pick up some Listerine on your way back?_  
  
It was probably bacterial, not viral. Just a sinus infection rather than a cold. And if it was, he could get rid of it by doing some significantly inadvisable things with a bottle of Listerine. Yet another thing he'd picked up in college that hadn't been included in the curriculum, but given the rate at which an illness could spread through a lecture hall, maybe it should have been. By the time JJ texted him back, he was half asleep, and just squinted at the phone long enough to figure out she didn't need a reply, before he slipped into unconsciousness. With any luck, he'd sleep until JJ got back.

* * *

Chaz got home while it was still light out, this time driving his own car. He waited until he'd been inside for a bit before he slotted the battery back into his phone, bringing it up to see how many calls he'd missed. No voicemail, but one text from Hafs, suggesting that he call Langly. And he would. But, after he ate. And maybe after he checked on Reid. Something hadn't been right, and he hadn't been able to devote the attention to figuring out what it was, once Reid had made clear it wasn't urgent.  
  
He'd eat something and check his email, he decided, and then see what Reid had wanted. Langly would either have emailed him or was just waiting until his phone came back online -- either meant he had a bit to figure out what he was going to tell Langly, because he sure as hell wasn't going to tell him the truth -- at least not all of it and not unless they were face to face. And he wasn't confessing to Hafs until she called him on it. And she would, once it worked. If it didn't, well, she'd probably figure it out anyway. But, the number of people aware that he could do the things he'd just done, he could count on one hand, and he was of no mind to increase the number. And nobody was telling Celentano, or he'd get pulled out of the field. At _least_.  
  
Balancing a container with a re-heated meatloaf on the arm of the couch, Chaz ate with one hand and flipped through messages with the other, the laptop pinned between one knee and his chest. Nothing that important. Lau talking shit on LiveJournal, again, which he absolutely deserved after the way he ran out of there, today, like his ass was on fire. He opened the post in another tab and knocked off a reply that strongly implied he'd eaten something he shouldn't have, and decided to spare the rest of the team the aftermath. That would not only be mostly believable, but would invite the kind of jokes at his expense that would change the tone without quite changing the subject, and that would be close enough.  
  
There. Langly had sent a message to his personal email, rather than the work one, with an enormous description of how he'd figured out the same thing Hafs had already said -- the leak had been Narcisse. And Langly wasn't sure where to go from there -- she was already locked up, and he was pretty sure they weren't going to be able to sneak Byers into a women's prison. Chaz almost spit meatloaf across the keyboard at the thought. He sent back a reply that explained nothing, but mentioned they already knew that and that the Bureau would be paying her a visit, shortly. _Give it a few days_ , he wrote.  
  
He went through the last of the messages -- the bank, the post office, the phone bill, the latest Steam sales -- as he finished the meatloaf, finally setting both the laptop and the pan on the coffee table, before he stretched out down the couch and reached for Reid.  
  
Drowning. The first thing that hit him was the struggle to breathe, but he pushed until he could tell it was only a dream. Still, it was a terrifying dream involving several million gallons of dark water, and he slipped himself into it, aiming for something appropriate, something that wouldn't be wrong enough to shock Reid awake. He remembered stories of mermaids rescuing drowning sailors by breathing air into their mouths and went for it. Couldn't be the weirdest thing Reid had ever dreamed.  
  
As he slipped deeper into the dream, Chaz realised Reid was _actually_ having trouble breathing, but not badly. Not in a way that suggested he was in any danger. A stuffy nose maybe? He tried to reach past the edges of the dream without breaking it. This was much easier when Reid was awake, he'd noticed, and he couldn't quite manage to get a grip on what was happening, now, but he was pretty sure it wasn't serious. Might have been the 'uncomfortable but not serious' that Reid had reached out from, earlier.  
  
Reid grabbed for him, in the dream, panicked and struggling for breath, and Chaz kissed him, traded his mouthful of water for a mouthful of air, and Reid suddenly relaxed in a way that suggested it wasn't just in the dream. He'd probably finally actually opened his mouth, which was going to be horrible, later, but for now, at least, he was breathing better. Slowly, the water receded around them, until they were on a beach, washed up in the surf. Reid made the next move, kissing Chaz again, and like the Frog Prince he felt his dream form turn back to something more comfortable and recognisable. He draped a leg over Reid's hip to make the point.  
  
The sand was softer than any sand on any beach in the world. And that was half the fun of dreams -- there would be no consequences for doing stupid things, as long as Chaz could keep this from turning back into a nightmare, and being the conscious one of them, he was fairly sure he could. And as the conscious one of them, he'd be following Reid's lead in everything else, which currently involved sea-chilled hands all over him. It was always strange the fistful of realistic points the brain would utterly insist on, in a dream, even while nothing else made sense, and Reid's hands, his legs, felt like the man had been soaking in cold salt water for a few hours. Chaz raised one hand to his mouth, cupped in both his own hands, and breathed on it. He could feel the impossible bloom of warmth that spread down Reid's fingers, fading out at the wrist.  
  
As Reid gazed at him worshipfully, desirously, Chaz had no doubt in his mind that this would be a very good dream, and he sincerely hoped Reid wasn't napping in some tac team's bunk room.


	8. Chapter 8

The dream fell away in clinging shreds as perfect electric pleasure raced down Reid's nerves, sparking off the ends of them, hot and glittering. Chaz's hands were on him. Chaz's _mouth_ was on him. It didn't matter if it was real, he could _feel it_. The echoes of memory spread across his skin, and he felt every muscle in his body clench, wrenching a raw, breathy sound from him.  
  
"Wow. You know, ah... I could just come back later."  
  
Reid's eyes flew open at the sound of JJ's voice, and the room slowly resolved around him. Room. Motel room. Not a beach. Because he was in Idaho Falls, working on a case.  
  
"What--?" he blinked dazedly at JJ, hoping he looked more confused than guilty. This was not a situation he'd ever particularly envisioned himself in, and he was increasingly pleased that both his hands were visible, one beside him with his phone still resting on two fingers and one on his thigh loosely holding the papers that hadn't yet slipped out of it.  
  
"Hell of a dream you were having, there." One of her eyebrows looked like it might never come back down, but she tossed a paper bag into Reid's lap and then set the other bag she was holding on the table.  
  
"Fever," Reid said, rifling through the bag. "I don't remember any of it. And I don't remember asking for anything but Listerine."  
  
"And you'll thank me in the morning. There's a couple of decongestants -- see which one works for you -- and some NyQuil."  
  
"Decongestants... Good. Definitely going to make this easier." Reid started to look a bit more awake, examining the ingredients and picking the box where he recognised all of them off the top of his head. "Can't take NyQuil, though. Dextromethorphan and I..." He shook his head, instantly regretting it.  
  
"I didn't know you were allergic." JJ's tone was curious.  
  
Reid opened his mouth to explain that it wasn't an allergy, but rethought that decision, closing his mouth and raising his eyebrows as he nodded cautiously. "Found that out a few years ago. Not fun." He got out of bed, waiting a few seconds to let the room stop spinning, and headed for the bathroom, Listerine and decongestant in hand. "I'm just going to clean up a bit."  
  
"Don't lock the door," JJ warned. "I don't want to have to pop the knob off, if you collapse."  
  
"I'm fine, JJ. It's a _sinus infection_ , not anthrax. And I was fine then, too."

* * *

"Hey, so, I, ah... It's not just me. We've got two more people coming graverobbing with us." Langly cleared his throat awkwardly.  
  
"... You're not bringing your boyfriends." The dread in Mary's voice was clear.  
  
"What? No. Boyfriend, one, singular. And he's not coming. He's on a case. And Villette's... I don't know where Villette is, but he's not invited." Actually, Langly knew exactly where he was, since he'd finally turned his phone back on. "No, it's, ah... you remember how I disappeared with two other people? We've been working together for almost thirty years, and this is exactly the kind of weird shit that used to fall into our laps back in the day, except, you know, now it's actually _me_. Still not sure how I feel about _being_ weird shit."  
  
"Dick, you were _always_ weird shit."  
  
Langly's chair squeaked as he drew himself up straighter. "... Oh, _thanks_." He paused. "And how the hell would you know?"  
  
"I don't, but everybody said so. Of course, everybody said I was your _cousin_ , too." Mary snorted. "So, your friends staying at the house, too?"  
  
"That's the idea. We've stayed in worse. You know any good contractors, speaking of 'worse'? I just want to make sure the roof stays on. Business expense."  
  
"You're actually serious about buying it, aren't you?"  
  
"Uh, yeah? I said I was going to. I want to at least get the inspectors lined up and set up fundamental repairs, while I'm in town, so the place doesn't fall over before I can enjoy owning it." A laugh caught in Langly's throat. "Okay, but do I piss on dad's grave before or after we dig him up?"  
  
"After. I don't want you getting stray DNA on anything."  
  
"... Yeah. We're related. That was way too quick."

* * *

"And how are you feeling, Mr I Took the Day Off Work Without a Word?" Hafidha asked, as she came in and spotted Chaz still sprawled down the couch with his laptop, empty tupperware stacked on the coffee table beside him, and a half gallon of ice cream tucked between his elbow and the wadded up dishtowel protecting his ribs from the cold.  
  
"I'm thinking I should stop and get more ice cream on the way home, tomorrow."  
  
"Don't we have another--?"  
  
"Nope. This is the second one." Chaz finally reached up and tipped the screen down so he could see over the top of it. "I'm just going to sit here and eat and not move much for a few more hours. I may have pushed a little harder than I should have, the last couple of days, but given the choice, I'd do it again."  
  
"What did you even do? I know you were working on the breach, same as I was, but... I thought you were just doing interviews. Even interviews where you're picking somebody's brains aren't a whole gallon of ice cream and ... was that the pot roast?"  
  
"Meatloaf. Pot roast's still there." Chaz sucked his spoon thoughtfully for a moment. "So, that's the thing. It wouldn't have been if I was the one doing the interviews. But, after Helmsman, I'm not just some random FBI agent. I'm the guy who's been in the news with Reid. Like I said, I'm the invisible man."  
  
"Are you suicidal again? Still? Is that an again or a still?" Hafidha hung her bag on a chair as she headed for the kitchen.  
  
"That's a no." Chaz sat up enough to glare at her over the back of the couch. "Also, with any luck, I just triggered an investigation. I'm not expecting a call, but someone should be."  
  
"What did you do?" Hafidha raised her voice a bit, but didn't even look, as she pulled a container out of the fridge, opened it, and tossed it in the microwave.  
  
"I'm not talking about it. Celentano would not approve." Chaz scraped up another spoonful of ice cream and tried not to drip it on his laptop before he got it to his mouth. "On the down side, Reyes might."  
  
This time, Hafidha turned around, walking stiffly through the dining room to lean over the back of the couch. " _What did you do?_ "  
  
Chaz looked up, meeting her eyes. "I strongly encouraged someone to tell the truth."  
  
"The truth truth, or what we want to be the truth?"  
  
"No, the actual truth. What really happened." Chaz didn't have to look down to get more ice cream, so he didn't, holding Hafidha's gaze as he stuffed another drippy spoonful into his mouth. "Think Helmsman."  
  
"Rockin' that wild superhero vibe again, little brother," Hafidha teased, straightening up as the microwave beeped. She went to get her dinner.  
  
"Where's the line, though?"  Chaz asked, the words muffled by a mouthful of ice cream still a little too cold to swallow. He swallowed anyway, eyes squeezing shut against the freezing pain that shot up through his sinuses. "At what point do I become the supervillain? Have I already crossed it?"  
  
Hafidha laughed in surprise. "Are you kidding me? That thing with Tom West was straight Wonder Woman."  
  
"Two points: A) there is nothing straight about Wonder Woman and B) I don't have to tie anyone up to make them tell the truth."

* * *

Somehow, Reid looked worse coming out of the bathroom than he had going into it. JJ handed him a cup of slightly burnt coffee and took a seat at the table.  
  
"So, what we know is that there are no Chinese dentists, in town. We'll have the other Asian dentists watched, but there's just not enough manpower to keep them under observation for fourteen hours straight." JJ held up a hand. "I had that argument, and then Rossi had that argument. This is as good as it gets, from the local police, but Prentiss called the local office and borrowed a few agents for one night of surveillance. We've got this. The UnSub's going to walk right into us."  
  
Reid sneezed into his hand and winced, glancing around for something to wipe it on. "What if it's not a dentist? What if--"  
  
"We checked everything dentist-adjacent, too. We can be relatively certain that _if you're right_ , we have the next victim covered," JJ assured him, reaching back to grab the bag she'd come in with, so she could hand Reid the large box of tissues from it. "Blow your nose, Spence. I have a toddler. I see worse on a daily basis. If you try to hand me your dirty tissues, though, we're gonna fight."  
  
Reid's eyebrows lifted and the corners of his mouth turned up, in amusement, as he plucked a tissue from the fresh box and wiped his hand. "You should probably pass me the trash can from next to the bed, then."  
  
After a few moments spent filling the bin with used tissues, Reid spoke again, mostly to himself. "All three victims so far have been taken from inside the city -- not just the metro area, but the city itself. So, assuming an Asian dentist -- how many?"  
  
"Six dentists, ten hygenists, and two surgeons, plus another two receptionists at dental clinics. Fortunately, the Asian population here is small. Unfortunately, a lot of them work in dentistry."  
  
"Twenty." Reid nodded, leaning over the bin and resting his elbows on his knees. "Definitely too many to watch all of them, and yet, here we are."  
  
"We are because this is one of the best chances we have to _catch_ this guy," JJ reminded him.  
  
Reid blew his nose again, yawned to pop his ears, and then sat up. "Make sure we get photos of every vehicle that drives down those streets after sunset. If we don't catch the killer in action, for some reason, we'll probably still catch the car."  
  
"The kind of screw up that would lead to us not catching him would probably be the kind of screw up that would mean we don't get the car, either."  
  
Reid shook his head and then winced. "If the UnSub kills an officer who tries to stop him, before backup gets there, it's unlikely he's going to take the time to search the officer's car, which is where the camera's going to be."  
  
"There's no weapons involved in the killings, so far. You really think that's something we have to worry about?" JJ raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested it might be the illness making Reid paranoid.  
  
"More to the point? I don't want to find out. Better we gather as much information as possible, just in case something goes wrong. Besides, the department's using digital cameras, right? It's not like we're have to worry about reimbursing the cost of film, or the time it would take to develop it." Reid leaned back in his chair, eyes closed as he tipped his head back. The pressure was starting to lessen, at least, but there was no way he was going to be well by morning.  
  
"You're right. It's not going to take any more time, money, or manpower. There's no reason not to do it. I'll text Prentiss and we'll get it out in the afternoon briefing." JJ reached for her phone, pausing to watch Reid for a few moments while his eyes were closed. He looked delicate, fragile -- and to some people, he looked that way all the time, but she knew better. She knew she was going to be just as sick as he was by the end of this case. "You sure you're all right, over there? You need anything?"  
  
"Hm?" Reid's eyes fluttered open and he grabbed a tissue as he sat forward again, letting the room spin around his head for a moment, before he blotted his nose. "Need? No, I'm fine. What I would _like_ , though, is a bowl of chile stew and for the heater to actually work in here."  
  
"It... _does_ work, Spence. You have a fever."  
  
"I do _not_ have--" Reid stopped in the middle of the sentence, patting his face and neck with his hand, before shoving up the other sleeve of his bathrobe to try his arm. "I do, don't I."  
  
"Pretty sure you do." JJ nodded sympathetically. "I don't know about chile stew, but I think I saw a Mexican place on the way across town. We could probably manage tacos with extra hot sauce."  
  
"If you can find me a bag of tortillas and a bucket of hot salsa, I'm pretty sure I can discuss the finer details with the coffee maker." Reid focused on breathing, which was at least a little easier than it had been when he'd first woken up.  
  
"There's something wrong with you."  
  
"Of course there is! I have a head cold!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took An Entire Week, but it's been a little extra exciting around here, lately. Way too much Going Outside and Seeing People, which is likely to continue to be the case through the end of July, so updates may be a little slow for a bit.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey, I know you're probably asleep, but when you get this message, we'll be halfway to Nebraska, at least. I just wanted to call you before I had to go convince Fitz not to repack his suit bag for the fourth time. It's like he forgot how to travel. You'll be happy to know I managed to fit both the night vision goggles _and_ my underwear, this time." Langly cleared his throat. "I love you. A lot. And I know you're probably getting home before me, so, ah, I'm going to call you again, when you land, so you don't have to go home _entirely_ without me. Yes, that means I'm watching your GPS. Yes, I know Hafs is going to have a fit and Penny's going to give me a stern talking to. But, I have a box of Twinkies and a deep-seated need to reach out and fondle your location data. Anyway, still bad at this leaving a message thing. I'll take you out for dinner when we're both in the same state."  
  
"Do I want the blue tie or the red tie?" Byers asked, from the doorway, one tie in each hand.  
  
"Byers, it's a _tie_. Just take both of them, and wear whichever one you grab first." Langly rolled his eyes and looked around the room one more time, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. And for once, he was pretty sure he actually had it all. Spending all those nights at Reid's had given him a much better grip on what the contents of his bag needed to be, if he intended to keep polite company, wherever he wound up. And, for a change, that was actually kind of important. He wasn't going to be behind the scenes, for this one, _and_ he wasn't just there to piss someone off and maybe get arrested as a distraction. No, he was the centrepiece of this one -- investigator and investigated.  
  
He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

* * *

"Should he be here? He looks like he's going to die..." a young task force officer asked, looking up from her screen as Reid sneezed again, on the other side of the room.  
  
Rossi patted the woman on the shoulder. "Listen, kid, I know he looks like he's been backed over by a garbage truck, but he thinks better thirty seconds after being woken up with a taser than you and I do all day. We need him. Which is also the polite way of saying if he collapses, he'll do it in front of us, so we can call an ambulance."  
  
The young woman nodded, checking the time and the latest batch of photos they'd received. "Stubborn. We've got a few of those."  
  
"Yeah, but he's good for it, unlike a lot of that type." Rossi followed the subtle turn of the woman's head and noted the time. "It'll be dawn, soon. Nothing?"  
  
"Not yet. Maybe the killer waits until the last minute."  
  
"It takes some time to kill someone and then _dress them_. Putting clothes on a corpse isn't easy." Rossi looked over to where Reid sat in the corner, as far from everyone else as possible, with a book, a copy of the case file, and a box of tissues. "Reid? We've got nothing."  
  
"I'm not wrong," Reid insisted, holding up one finger and the book he'd been reading while he blew his nose with the other hand. "We just missed someone."  
  
"We didn't miss anyone," JJ reassured him. "I don't know what we're going to find, today, but I'm pretty sure it's not an Asian dentist, so we're going to have to take another look at the pattern."  
  
Prentiss held up her hands. "We'll wait until daybreak and have the surveillance team check the parks on their way back in. Let's not wait for someone to call this one in. If we're lucky, we'll catch the UnSub in the act. If we're luckier, there won't be a victim, today."  
  
"I'm not sure I'd count that as 'luckier'," Reid argued, and several people turned to look at him. "Not unless the third victim was intended to be the last. Because if there's not one today, that's a break in the pattern, and it's going to seriously complicate our efforts to stop this from happening again. Worst case, no victim in Idaho Falls means our UnSub has picked a different city to continue in, and there will probably be three more victims before anyone even _considers_ notifying us."  
  
"He's not always like this," Rossi assured the room. "That said, he _is_ right."  
  
The young officer shook her head. "That's the worst case, sure. But, it's also possible we're not going to have a victim because the killer got picked up for something else, in which case we have cause for a vehicle search--"  
  
"Do you have any idea how many people were arrested, last night?" JJ reached into the box of donuts that sat next to her, only to find it empty. "Even if we cut it down to people who were arrested from their vehicles--"  
  
"And we're not going to have that problem. Patrol just turned up the fourth victim." The young officer turned on her headset to respond to the report and get the location, and JJ stood up to get her coat.  
  
"Rossi, you coming?" she asked, before jabbing a finger at Reid. "No. You don't need to breathe on anyone else."  
  
"We're in an enclosed space. It probably doesn't matter that I've been sitting in the corner," Reid argued, dizzily dragging himself to his feet, still clutching the box of tissues.  
  
Alvez leaned into the room, looking bleary and rumpled. "What've we got?"  
  
JJ pointed at him. "Get coffee. You're coming with me. You've slept."

* * *

The plane had wifi, because of course it did, and that meant the instant Reid's message came in, Langly knew about it. The phone might not know until it switched to the airport network, but he'd been bored and overcaffeinated, so he let the laptop do the heavy lifting while he covered his own trail in ways only Hafidha would notice, and watched his inbox out of the corner of his brain.  
  
He didn't touch his phone, hands still playing the game he'd stopped paying attention to seconds ago, and he knew he'd be re-playing this level, because he was getting utterly smeared by the AI from the instant he stopped paying attention. But, it wasn't important. What was important was that Byers didn't figure out what he was doing. Maybe he should've gone to the bathroom. It's not like anyone was going to be surprised if he threw up.  
  
What was important was the message.  
  
"Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, but this case just took an ugly turn. I'm going to be another week, at least. I'm glad you remembered to bring your underwear with you, but I--" Here there was a garbled sound that might've been a sneeze. "I wish you'd brought me. Not least because if I'd left a day later I probably wouldn't be sick." An amused clearing of the throat followed. "I love you, I miss you, and I'll see you when we get home. Not that I'm sure which of us is getting home first, at this rate. I'd say don't do anything I wouldn't do, but I don't think that would actually help in any meaningful way -- neither saying it nor doing it. Leave me a message when you land. I don't know when I'll be able to call. Things are-- I have to go."  
  
Ah, lifestyles of the heroic and underpaid. He'd expected it. Nothing ever wrapped up that fast. He'd slipped in while Garcia wasn't looking and taken a quick look at the case notes and he'd known instantly this wasn't going to be over as fast as Reid hoped. Nothing ever went right on the first try, and there was only one murder a week. Unless this guy started leaving trace, which he hadn't, according to the notes, there was nothing to do but catch him in the act, which could only happen on one day of the week.  
  
But, there was nothing in the file that made him worry. None of the dolls sounded like Reid and the killer didn't seem to be working with a weapon, which meant that while Reid might get _punched_ , he wasn't likely to get killed. He wasn't likely to _become_ a target. And Langly could live with that, assuming Reid didn't manage to suffocate on his own snot.  
  
Frohike was asking him something, and Langly realised he wasn't paying attention at all.  
  
Langly huffed and stopped pretending to play the level he'd gotten killed on. " _What?_ "  
  
"Thirty years later, and I'm still stuck with this bitchy hippy," Frohike said to Byers, before returning his attention to Langly. "I said, 'what do we call her'? Is she your cousin or is she your sister?"  
  
"She's Dr Mary Langly, and she's selling us a dairy farm," Langly snapped. "That's the whole point. We're not related. I'm just buying a house."  
  
"Are you okay?" Byers asked, getting up to move into the seat directly across from Langly. "You're looking a little pale."  
  
"Of course I look pale, Byers. I _am_ pale. How long have you known me?" Langly rolled his eyes.  
  
"It's perfectly reasonable, if you're nervous." Byers offered a sympathetic look and received an unimpressed glare for his efforts. "Do you remember when we went back to my dad's house, because we thought he was dead? I know what this is like. I know you think you remember everything, but I also know you're going to see things that were always there, but they didn't have meaning, the first time. I know you're going to learn things, and some of them you might wish you hadn't."  
  
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" Langly drawled, bouncing a Twinkie off Byers's forehead and catching the wrapper on the rebound.  
  
"Leave him be," Frohike muttered from the opposite side of the jet. "He's just going to keep hissing and yowling until he passes out from the stress. He'll be fine tomorrow. You know what he's like."  
  
"Yes, actually, I do know what he's like, and I'm trying to stop this from getting to that point!" Byers flung a hand toward Langly, who had already stuffed most of the Twinkie into his mouth.  
  
The first attempt at a rebuttal was muffled by snack cake, but a few sips of coffee managed to melt it enough for Langly to swallow. "If I seem a little _concerned_ , maybe it's just because my boyfriend is in Idaho with a serial killer and no Villette."  
  
He was lying. He knew he was lying. And at a glance, Frohike knew it, too.  
  
Shit.

* * *

Reid came out of the bathroom, looking like he'd been washing his face, rather than making a phone call, about a minute after JJ had cracked the door and suggested he rejoin them. "I'm assuming we have an ID on the latest victim?"  
  
"We've got another dentist, as predicted." JJ paused and took a long breath.  
  
"Thai? Pacific Islander?" Reid guessed, watching JJ's face. Something wasn't right. They'd missed something.  
  
"Chinese. You were right. It's a Chinese dentist."  
  
Reid blinked. "How--?" Dread slid down his face as the realisation hit him. "The suburbs. We checked the actual city, because that's where the first three victims came from. We didn't check the surrounding communities."  
  
"Genius strikes again." JJ nodded, gesturing back toward the room they'd been working in, before she set off in that direction. "The body was still found within the city limits, though."  
  
"We're absolutely looking for someone who grew up here, but that doesn't really help. People who grew up here are more than seventy percent of the population. Even if we assume the killer is a man, that's still thirty-five to forty percent."  
  
"Men about your age, with older sisters, who grew up here? Still a few thousand people." JJ shook her head. "And like Garcia said, there's a couple hundred serious collectors of these dolls, but none of them live _anywhere_ in Idaho."  
  
"And neither do their siblings. I know." Reid rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The parks still look random, and that bothers me. Is the new one random, too?"  
  
"At a glance, anyway. It's not the first park you'd pass coming back into the city, proper, from the victim's house. We've got no reason to believe the victim had any particular connection to that park, but we're still checking. None of the others have, so it's not likely to mean anything even if this one does." JJ held the door open for Reid and followed him in, as he retreated to his chair in the corner for the tissues, before approaching the map. "If there's a pattern to the locations, I can't find it."  
  
"Where's the new one?" Reid asked, marker in one hand, tissue in the other.  
  
"Liberty Park." JJ pointed, and Reid marked it.  
  
"That's... not terribly helpful, is it?" Reid tapped the parks in order and shook his head. "There's not an obvious pattern to the locations, the park names don't seem to form a message, the first letters of the park names or the letters that align with their place in the sequence don't seem like they'll spell anything, if for no other reason than there are no words that start like that and almost all of those letters are consonants... Are the areas around the parks traditionally considered to be ethnic enclaves of any kind?"  
  
"It hasn't come up, but I'll ask the locals. I can tell you I didn't see the kind of shift in signage you'd expect, though." JJ looked at the map and then at the list of victim information on the whiteboard next to it. "There has to be some benefit to these parks, in particular. Why are these parks different from the others?"  
  
"They all have playgrounds, which cuts the number of potential locations by about a third, if I recall the list correctly, but some of those, I think, aren't properly _parks_ , the way you'd think of them -- I remember tennis courts standing out, and a skate park." Reid stepped back and tipped his head down, sneezing into the tissue he held.  
  
"We're still collecting evidence from the fourth scene," JJ said, cautiously. "Why don't I run you back to-- no. Why don't both of us go back to the hotel and take a nap. We've been up since this time yesterday, and I have no doubt that Alvez, Simmons, and Lewis can take care of this part. We'll sleep, catch up over dinner, and get back to mornings, tomorrow."  
  
Reid looked like he might argue, but he also looked like he might fall down if he sneezed too hard. "Fine, but we're picking up dinner. I'm thinking Mexican, again, for me. If I eat enough salsa, maybe I can keep this under control."  
  
JJ put her hands on both his shoulders and turned him to face her, well aware that he might sneeze on her. "Orange juice, Spence. Drink some orange juice."  
  
He tipped his head and made an uncertain sound. "I don't think we're going to find orange juice as a takeout option."  
  
"So, we'll stop at a grocery store. It's before noon. Everything's still open."  
  
Reid nodded. "Three things, then. Orange-pineapple juice, the hottest salsa we can find, and cough drops."  
  
"I think that's the most sensible thing you've said since you got out of bed, yesterday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the hell I can't put words into sentences, this month, but rest assured I have not forgotten I'm writing this!


	10. Chapter 10

They were in the car, driving back up toward Saltville, when Mary finally said what Langly knew she'd been thinking. He'd been hoping he was wrong, and right then, he was just glad Byers was following them in the rental, and not in the car with them.  
  
"So, your friend Fitz? He's cute."  
  
The simple answers crossed Langly's mind -- he's twice your age, he's got a daughter half your age, he's got a girlfriend, he's got a lifelong obsession with another woman who might be mind-controlling him -- but, in the end, he went with the one thing he knew would work. "Too late. I already licked it."  
  
Mary's eyes leapt from the road to her cousin, instantly blazing. "Are you even serious?"  
  
"Uhh, you might want to keep your eyes on the--"  
  
"I live here. I don't need to look at the road. I can drive this in the middle of the night. _Are you fucking serious_?"  
  
"One night of drunken stupidity. We were bored," Langly lied, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them in case of cows. To his surprise, she did seem to actually know the road well enough to stay on it without looking. Maybe he should've stayed in Nebraska longer, if this is what it would've gotten him. He still doubted that Frohike would ever have let him drive.  
  
"Have you just slipped the sausage to everyone you know? Is this one of those things where I shouldn't even look at anyone who knows you, because you probably got there first?" Mary's eyes whipped back to the road as a Sheriff's Department cruiser came past them the other way. "Because let me tell you, with our face, this is getting a little hard to believe."  
  
"Not everyone!" Langly huffed, jamming himself into the corner of the seat against the door. "Not even most of them. You just... we have the same taste, okay? And you managed to pick out three of three of the people I've put my hands on since I was probably thirty-two. And if you somehow manage to pick out the five from before that, I'm just gonna be entirely creeped out."  
  
Mary stared at the road in front of them in silence, for a bit. "So, how come you're gay, and I'm not? That another one of those little glitches?"  
  
"I'm not _gay_ ," Langly protested jamming one foot against the dashboard, as he slid down in the seat, knee pressed into his shoulder. "I'm bi. I know you only met the boyfriend, his evil twin, and Fitz, back there, but I've been in circulation long enough that you missed a few, and _some_ of them were pretty girls."  
  
"Okay, _not_ a glitch then." Mary nodded, chewing on her lip. "Chaz's sister single? You didn't lick her, right?"  
  
"She thinks he licked _you_. She's not going to go for it." Langly rolled his eyes. "And besides that, he's doing that thing people do when they get dumped. I heard something about getting drunk enough our better half had a hangover. He'll totally melt down, and I don't want to get stuck -- no, I'm not going to get stuck. I don't want Reid to get stuck mopping up, if he tries to drown himself in the toilet."  
  
"You telling me I dodged a bullet?"  
  
" _No_. Villette's great. I wish you didn't mind him slightly drooled-on, but everybody's got a line they don't cross. Mine's just somewhere else, which means it's not genetic, it's environmental."  
  
"If he's so great, why are you trying to give him to me?" Mary asked as a sign pointing toward Saltville flashed by.  
  
"Because I think you're pretty cool, and I want you to have the best you can get. And I didn't say anything about _giving_ him to you, but I _really_ don't give a shit if you want to borrow him. Anything more than that's up to him, but I think he's made his opinion clear on what he thinks of being borrowed." Langly shrugged, shifting his knee to block his face from the side window as the speed limit dropped and they came into Saltville. "He's just under a lot of stress right now, and this was like... the last straw. Just maybe don't hit on Hafs for another few months. He probably _would_ get over it, but not right now. He's kind of dredging the bottom of Lake Coping Skill right now. It's mostly the job. And the West case. That was pretty nasty for all of us. But, the job doesn't do anyone any favours. I've known more FBI agents than I'm really comfortable considering, over the years, and they all lose their shit every few years. But, I mean, who doesn't? Fitz gets cripplingly stupid and drunk for a few days every year. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly screwed in straight either, and that's the only time I'm gonna say it."  
  
"So, your darling Spencer--"  
  
"Is crazy as a shithouse rat, and he knows it." Langly snorted. "He's dating _me_ , remember?"  
  
"Speaking of _you_ , if you don't get your knee out of the window, everyone's going to know it's you. They still talk about that -- Uncle Pete driving into town in that big old car and you with your foot jammed up in the window so the sun wouldn't shine straight on your face."  
  
Langly pulled the seat release and dropped back with a thump, his foot falling back to the floor. "Fine. Now nobody can see shit, except for the two guys in the car behind us, who definitely aren't from around here."  
  
"You really are just always this dramatic, aren't you?" Mary teased out of the side of her mouth, trying to look like there was no one with her.  
  
"I am not--" Langly folded his arms and huffed, as he felt the car turn. "Fine, okay, yes. _Maybe_."  
  
"Passing Whitleys, so don't breathe too hard," Mary said, head down as if adjusting the radio. When she looked back up, she smiled and nodded at the winter-coated men smoking cigars outside the only store in town.  
  
" _Whitleys_ is still open? How the hell old is Old Man Whitley?"  
  
Mary waited until they'd gone a bit further, until the town gave way to fields again, which was just a few last houses on the road that led out of town the other way. "About my age. It's his grandson, now. You can pop the seat back up. We're on the West Farm Road, now."  
  
Langly swallowed, fighting the temptation to say he was fine right where he was. He wasn't sure he wanted to look out the window, here, and he wasn't sure if it would be more disturbing if things had changed, or if they were still the same. The last time he'd set foot on this road, he'd walked as far as York, just to make sure nobody would remember him, just to make sure he'd really disappear. And now, he was back. And after everything he'd said about the house, he still wasn't sure this counted as winning, if he actually came back here.  
  
He leaned forward, eyes closed, and brought the seat up, leaning back to snap it into place. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to be here. Why had he thought this was a good idea?  
  
"Are you getting carsick? If you're gonna hork, at least roll down the window."  
  
Langly whipped his glasses off and finally opened his eyes, staring into his lap as he wiped his glasses on the bottom of his shirt, which was just going to make them worse, and he knew it. It was kind of the point. "I'm not gonna throw up," he huffed. "Does it still look the same out there?"  
  
"You're asking _me_? It's pretty much the same as when I was a kid, except the Gardners painted their house green instead of mustard, around the time Uncle Pete died, and I think the Thorsons finally left. Maybe there's more, but I haven't been up here since we wrapped up the house." Mary looked over at her cousin. "You really don't look so good, and this time it's not just your face."  
  
Langly scoffed and rolled his eyes, still not putting his glasses back on. "Oh, _thanks_."  
  
"I think your glasses are getting dirtier."  
  
Langly finally stopped rubbing his glasses and held them up, realising they'd gone from having a couple of greasy fingerprints around the edges to being a vaguely translucent smeary white. "Christ. Is there a napkin in here somewhere?"  
  
Mary reached across him and popped open the glovebox, revealing a stash of napkins, ketchup packets, and pencils.  
  
Grabbing a napkin, Langly spit on his glasses and tried again. By the time he managed to get them to a point where both his eyes would focus on the same spot, they were pulling into the driveway of the farm, and the dread crawled up his spine as the house grew larger in his vision. What the hell had he been thinking? What was he doing here? He'd tried so hard to get away, and now he'd let some entirely childish vendetta against his dad drag him back. He clutched his own elbows and stared round-eyed at the sagging veranda, as Mary set the parking brake.  
  
"Dick, seriously, you look like you're having a heart attack."  
  
"I'm fine. I'm good," Langly insisted, dizzily, the words barely more than croaky breaths.  
  
Mary leaned over and jammed a half-finished bottle of water between his knees, before she opened the door and hauled herself out in one smooth motion, already heading for the car behind them as she hit the ground. "He's not talking to me, but he looks really bad."  
  
"He's fine." Frohike locked the car with the touch of a button as Byers slammed the other door, darting up to where Langly still sat, stunned. "Give him five minutes and he'll be yelling about _something_. It's Nebraska. He's usually drunk within fifteen miles of the state line and curled up in a puddle of piss and pissed off until we cross again. Nah, that's not fair. That was only once. He's usually just pissed _off_."  
  
"Do I want to know?"  
  
"He didn't want to spend another minute in this state that he didn't absolutely have to, and he was sure he'd make it to the Wyoming border." Frohike shook his head and sighed. "He missed it by about five minutes. Not actually the worst five minutes we've spent within six feet of each other."  
  
Mary stared at where Byers crouched beside the open door of her car, looking up at Langly. "What the hell is he _doing_ here?"  
  
Frohike sighed again. "Pretending to be an adult."

* * *

Chaz leaned into Hafidha's secret lair, one hand on the doorknob and the other on the doorframe, knowing he was asking to get his head taken off in a horrible door accidentally-on-purpose. "We're going dancing tonight."  
  
Hafidha did not look up from whatever she was working on across four screens, none of them comprehensible to anyone but her. "What do you mean ' _we_ ', platypus?"  
  
"I mean we're spending too much time at home, and if we don't get out, one of us is going to start sniping." Chaz cocked his head, as if she could see him. "Besides, Tory misses you. _Not that it's any of my business_."  
  
This time, Hafidha looked back, her head leading and the chair squeaking as it caught up. "You'd better not be implying what I think you are."  
  
"You could do worse." Chaz shrugged, hands unmoving. "He's a cop, and he obviously knows what a good time looks like. That's two points with zero effort. Good-looking and about our age for another two."  
  
"If you're going to make that argument, why aren't _you_ screwing him?"  
  
"I'm--" Chaz swallowed the next word as a chill shot down his spine. "He's not my type. Just standing next to him makes me look like I weigh five pounds. There are people who are into that and none of them are me."  
  
"Chazzie, are you really sure you weigh more than five pounds? I'm pretty sure I've seen heavier housecats," Hafidha teased, looking at him over the top of her flickering glasses.  
  
"Oh, because you have any room _at all_ to talk?"  
  
"You're six inches taller than me and at least twenty pounds lighter. I have all the room in the world to talk." Hafidha took the glasses off and set them aside. She didn't need them to see; they were just part of her interface. "You pull another one like you did with Beale, and I'm not sure there's enough of you to come back from it. How many years has it been, and you're still..." She gestured at him with one hand, and her voice dropped to an annoyed hiss. "And you just picked up another passive. Is your hair turning grey again, yet?"  
  
"It never stopped. You know that." Chaz shrugged, and a wry smile crept across his face. "You're so worried about me, come dance with me, before we walk into something else we're not supposed to survive." The tip of his tongue slipped between his lips and his eyes sparkled.  
  
"I will do it because you're smiling, and I think it's the first time this week."  
  
He knew what she meant. The first time she'd seen him smile since he'd broken the news to Mary.

* * *

Langly stood on the porch, trying not to hyperventilate, but when Mary reached past him to unlock the door, he twisted the keys out of her hand, shaking his head. "I have to do this."  
  
He swallowed and tried to stand up straighter, shaking Byers's arm off his shoulders without a word, as he stared at the lock. As long as he didn't open it, he was still some kind of safe. Which was a stupid thought anyway. There was nothing in there but bad memories and maybe a few mice. But, the memories were pressing in as he stood there. He knew which boards creaked. When he placed his feet a certain way, he could feel an argument he'd had, standing right here, just like this.  
  
Behind him, Frohike rolled his eyes at Byers, already exasperated. "It's the middle of winter, Langly, and we're all gonna freeze to the porch if you don't open the damned door."  
  
Langly reached out, barely feeling his hands, as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He could see the foyer gaping before him, lightless but recognisable, and the air that poured out, winding around him, smelled like dust and rot, on the surface. But, underneath, he could still smell the stuff his mother used to wash the floor with and his father's cologne, like all those years the smell had just been soaking into the wood. It smelled like home.  
  
Leaving the keys hanging from the doorknob he threw himself at the porch rail and lost his lunch over it. Breakfast, really. He hadn't gotten to lunch, yet. Just when he thought he'd finished, the air from inside caught up with him again. This time, he lost his glasses, too.  
  
"Oh, for chrissakes!" he snapped, sounding more like himself than he had since they'd hit the edge of Saltville.  
  
"I got it," Byers sighed, turning around to head back down the steps and get Langly's glasses. "Just don't throw up on me. We're not thirty any more, and I'm a lot less forgiving."  
  
"The hell you are, Byers." Langly stretched down over the rail, holding his hand out.  
  
"It doesn't smell _that_ bad," Mary said, from the other side of the door.  
  
"I don't think that's the same kind of 'bad' you're thinking of," Frohike offered, stepping into the doorway to take a look around. "You sealed this place up pretty good, didn't you."  
  
"We were pretty sure it was never going to sell to anyone we wanted to sell it to." Mary nudged him into the house. "It's not warm in there, but at least there's no wind."  
  
By the stairs, Langly had Byers by the shoulders, looking down into the space between them, not to breathe barf on him. "I don't think I can do this, Byers. I don't know what I was thinking, but I don't think I can do this."  
  
"Come on, you remember what happened with my dad. It's like that, except we know your dad's dead, so that's one surprise we're not going to have."  
  
"Are we? Are we really sure of that? I don't know! Nobody called me when he died! And someone's buried in his grave, but is it him? It wasn't _your_ dad! Why would it be mine?" Langly was still trying to not touch his barf-covered glasses to Byers's shoulder, when Byers reached out and slowly pulled him closer.  
  
"That's what we're here to find out. Even if that is Peter Langly, that might not be your dad. But, I know what you're asking is whether it's Peter Langly in that grave. As far as I know, there's no reason it shouldn't be." Byers kept a hand in the middle of Langly's back, just holding him in place.  
  
"Ding dong the witch is dead," Langly muttered against Byers's shoulder. "I swear he really _wasn't_ that bad. He was just an asshole, kind of like Frohike, but if Frohike had thirty cows and a wife who made cheese."  
  
"Frohike wasn't the primary authority figure while you were growing up. That's the difference," Byers assured him.  
  
"Did I mention I was the probably snottiest little shit in the history of children?" Langly was still trying to figure out what to do with his glasses.  
  
"Did you mention it?" Frohike asked from the partial warmth of the foyer. "No. Are we surprised? Also no. It's you, Langly. Have you ever been anything else?"  
  
Langly blinked several times as he straightened out of Byers's grasp, lips even thinner than usual as he turned toward Frohike, eyes bright and offended. He stalked toward the house, wiping his glasses across the front of Frohike's jacket as he squeezed past him through the door.  
  
"Thank god, we finally got him in the house." Frohike rolled his eyes at Byers. "Get over here so we can shut the door before he changes his mind."


	11. Chapter 11

"Well, you look like shit."  
  
Chaz looked up as Duke set a cup of coffee on his desk. "Tell me there's a case. Tell me you found something too bizarre for the rest of mankind, and we can go do something about it."  
  
"Besides the one your friend's still trying to get us an invite on? Nothing I'm sure enough of to dump on you. You know, the usual low-current weird shit -- a spontaneous combustion, but just one; something that's either a werewolf or the victim totally lost their shit after getting bit by the neighbour's dog, and it could easily go either way with this one; a classic alien abduction story -- it's nothing worth staring at. There's no patterns, though there's always a chance that's a 'yet'." Duke stole Brady's empty chair and sat down. "You going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to start guessing?"  
  
"I would just like to be working on something, instead of staring into space." Chaz rested his elbows on the desk and his head on his folded hands. "Somebody went after Spencer, earlier this week. You might not have heard about it, not being actually employed here any more. Hell, you might not have heard it, even if you were. Kind of trying to keep a lid on it."  
  
"Define 'went after'." Duke sat back, his own coffee in one hand, and any hint of amusement gone from his face.  
  
"They pulled his entire record, including the psych reports, and sent it to the press."  
  
"And then I assume Hafidha had them for breakfast, and is still in her lair picking her teeth with the bones, right?" The faint hint of a smile returned.  
  
"Something like that. I understand it was cleaned up before anything made it into print," Chaz said, carefully. "The problem is that I'm probably next, and there's ... nothing left for me to do about that. And I've got much nastier secrets than Spencer."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, back up. If Hafidha already dealt with it, then _nobody_ is next. It's Hafs. You can't convince me that person's computer didn't just burst into flames -- that's something I should check the news for: local hacker suffers massive property damage as every electronic device he owns shorts out at once."  
  
"That's Frank, not Hafs." One side of Chaz's mouth tipped up. "And in this instance, the problem is already in prison. _None of us_ can get near her, if it's who we think it is, but someone has to be helping from the inside, because she's not supposed to have access to any electronics. I know officially someone from Computer Crimes is looking into this. I know Hafs is absolutely up the network team's ass about this. But, I'm still next, if nobody stops her."  
  
"Why _you_? That's what I'm not getting." Duke sipped his coffee and watched Chaz's face. The kid was a brilliant liar and he always had been, less wild bullshit and more really nearly plausible things that could be explained by circumstance or the Anomaly, but something here didn't make sense, and with Chaz, that usually meant it was _true_.  
  
"Helmsman." Chaz slid his face up his hands and propped his chin on his bent thumbs. "The core task force got endless airtime. Frank's been through the wringer already. It all _started_ with Frank, but he takes care of himself. There's nothing to find, except through us. You spend twelve or more hours a day with someone for a few months, and people start to think you're leverage."  
  
"The important thing here -- the part you keep missing -- is that whoever this is, and I think I know who you're talking about, _failed_ , with Reid. And now Frank and Hafidha are both looking. Nobody's getting away with that twice. Nobody even got away with it once." Duke pointed with the hand he was holding his coffee in -- the one with enough fingers to do both. "And that's a good reason to keep you out of circulation a little longer. Don't want anyone getting distracted."  
  
"I'm probably paranoid, but after what we've been through, who wouldn't be? Good reason to stay? Now I want to go to Midland. It's the only thing we're holding, and I've got that itch. I don't like the timing."  
  
"Let's pretend for a moment that I'm taking you seriously." Duke spread his hands. "Who in Midland would know that you're trying to get in on this case? And why would they be aware of what's going on here? If someone was trying to keep you out of their way, this is the absolutely most convoluted way the universe could go about making that happen. There are much more direct ways that still wouldn't look connected, and you know that."  
  
"I try not to think about that. I know you're right." Chaz pulled his hands back and curled forward until he could smack his head on the desk a few times. "Stir crazy, probably."  
  
Duke nodded, standing up and kicking the chair back in as Brady came in. "That I'd believe."

* * *

Langly sat on the stairs, in the same position he'd been in for hours. His chest ached, his knees were stiff, and the only signal he could find to distract himself with was cellular. Aside from the satellite, and he wasn't touching that. He'd had enough problems with... But, that was then. He worked at the speed of thought, now. If he'd known, then, what he knew now, that whole thing would've played out differently.  
  
The smell of eggs frying drifted up the hall, and he tried not to think of his mother. She hadn't deserved any of this. She could've been happy, here, as a farm wife in Hicksville, USA. But, no. She was _his_ mother. And he was ... this place hadn't been for him, and the more his parents tried to find a way to make him fit in, the more he'd wanted to leave. But, what had he done to his family? He should've at least sent a postcard or something. They really hadn't been that bad. He was just weird, and they weren't sure what to do with him.  
  
And now he knew why.  
  
But, it was too late, now, to ask about it.  
  
"Langly?" Byers appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Come eat. Frohike made huevos rancheros."  
  
At least that wouldn't taste like home, Langly thought, still unmoving. "I don't want to. No. I want to eat. I don't want to walk through any more of this place."  
  
"You're like seven feet from where we came in."  
  
"I want to eat, not to throw up again." Langly glared over his knees at Byers. "If I try to make it to the kitchen, I'm gonna hork."  
  
"Close your eyes." Byers held out a hand. "It's right down the hall. Tell me where you want to sit, and I'll get you into a chair, before you open your eyes."  
  
"What the hell was I thinking, Byers?"  
  
Byers did not point out that's what they'd been asking him since he first said he was going to buy the house, but he looked like he might. "You were thinking it wouldn't bother you any more. You were thinking you're an adult and pretty well in control of your life."  
  
"I was thinking I had to come back, because the answer to what we _are_ is somewhere between here and Uncle Joe's. Surfuckingprise, I'm twins, but _how_? I know you're still thinking Syndicate, but I don't look a damn thing like Samantha." Langly groaned and mashed his glasses against his knees. "I was thinking if there were any records left, they'd be in the attic. It's why I started with the stairs, but I can't do it. I can't go up there."  
  
"You need to eat," Byers reminded him. "And you probably need to eat even more since I'm pretty sure you threw up half a box of Twinkies. Come on. You'll feel better after you eat something. You'll feel better when you're not folded in half."  
  
"The kitchen chairs really aren't much of an improvement," Langly argued, with no real fire, already extending his leg, trying to figure out how much of his legs he could still feel. He leaned heavily on the wall as Byers helped him down the stairs.  
  
"Close your eyes. I won't let you walk into anything."  
  
Langly shook his head, folding his arms halfway, still holding Byers's hand. "It's _my_ god damn house.  I can walk down the hall in my own house. I grew up here!"  
  
Byers followed close behind him, as Langly continued to rant all the way back to the kitchen. As they came up to the door, Frohike leaned into the light.  
  
"Hey, this is--"  
  
Langly was already in the air before the panicked shriek passed his lips, and Byers caught him with both arms, staggering and turning with the sudden impact. Byers rocked back, but managed to throw himself forward, his arms occupied with Langly, and caught himself against the wall with his head and Langly's shoulder.  
  
"I just want you to know this is extremely uncomfortable," Byers muttered, trying to figure out how to put Langly down, without dropping both of them on the floor.  
  
"Was that my _cousin_?" Mary leaned around the edge of the door frame behind Byers, staring into the unlit hallway. "I don't think I've heard a scream like that since junior high!"  
  
"He's excitable." Frohike made no move to help, leaning in the kitchen doorway and watching Byers and Langly struggle with each other and gravity. "I'd put my money on the Jolt. Nothing that drinks that much caffeine is capable of chilling out, least of all your cousin Dick."  
  
Langly twisted out of Byers's grip, landing awkwardly half bent over as he inadvertently elbowed Byers toward Mary. He jabbed a finger at Frohike. " _Hell no_. _You_ don't get to call me that."  
  
"Don't be a shit, Dick." Mary caught Byers before he could stumble into the huge living room behind her.  
  
"Okay, you know what? None of you get to call me that. Not here, not now." Langly straightened up and tugged his shirt out of where it had folded into the waistband of his jeans. "In case you forgot, we're not on vacation. We're here to solve a fifty-year-old mystery, and then figure out what we're doing with that solution. Me? I could've gone my whole life and never figured it out, especially if I _stayed here_. Who the hell ever questions looking like their relatives? You're supposed to look like them. Except, you know, we only really look like _each other_. But, who would've noticed? It's not that kind of place. The people, here, might believe in aliens or that the government's using chlorination to sedate the populace, but we're not the kind of thing that happens here. Which is probably exactly _why_ it happened here. Which means you are all calling me 'Frank' until we're the hell out of this godforsaken prairie. I can't take the chance someone's going to _notice_."  
  
"Man's got a point," Frohike admitted, stepping back into the kitchen. "You want to eat in here or the dining room?"  
  
"Dining room," Langly said without even a thought. "The table's bigger."  
  
The light was also less direct, which wasn't really a problem, but it might become one, later. At the moment, though, it kept Langly from focusing on the cracked finish on the polished walnut chairs, as he folded the dust covers off things. His mother had loved this dining room set, even if they didn't use it except on holidays, and he ran his fingers under the edge of the table until he found where he'd carved his name in the underside of it, with a pocket knife. He wondered if his parents had ever found that. Didn't matter how old he was, he'd still be in deep shit.  
  
"How long 'til the power's back on?" Langly asked, half folding, half balling up the cover from the table and tossing it onto what had been the liquor cabinet.  
  
"A few days, but I came out after you said you were flying out and hooked up the generator. It's just loud as hell and I didn't see the point in turning it on, while we still have daylight." Mary ran her hand over the carved curls on the china cabinet, and Langly realised she'd probably spent more time in the house than he had. Certainly more recently.  
  
"Gonna have to turn it on if I'm going into the attic." Langly dropped himself into the chair that faced the least of the room, the least of the house, and kept his eyes on the table until Frohike came back in with food. "I don't want to find out if I can turn on the lights with no power. That's on the list of things that would probably still kill me, at this point, if I can do it, and I have no reason to think I can't."  
  
"Every time you've interacted with a circuit, it's been powered," Byers argued, pointing at Langly with the bottle of Tabasco he'd been pouring onto his eggs. "You can't possibly think you can just... generate electricity?"  
  
"Why the hell not?" Langly realised how hungry he was when the plate hit the table in front of him. "Hafs knows a lady who calls lightning. I can already use powered lines to do the same thing, without taking out the fuse box. I can make it make sense, which means I can probably do it, but I have no idea if I'd survive it, so I'd rather not find out. Reid would dig up my grave to kick my ass, and that's already happened once this year."  
  
"Your boyfriend dug up your grave?" Mary asked, blinking at him, as Frohike took his own plate and sat next to her.  
  
"No, a pissed off serial killer dug up my grave. I told you that one." Langly's words were somewhat muffled by the mouthful of eggs, and his stomach was louder than his words, near the end. "Dug up my grave was the important part of that."  
  
"Did we actually buy enough food to feed him?" Byers asked, after a moment.  
  
Mary looked at him as if she wasn't sure if he was joking. "If we didn't, we can always drive back down to York. I don't think there's enough food in Saltville, if what you sent ahead's not enough."  
  
Langly stopped shovelling food into his face long enough to make a comment. "The network access out here sucks. It's a little harder to keep a grip on it than I'm used to. And then I barfed up half of breakfast. I'm going to eat this, and then I'll stand over the sink and pour a few protein shakes down my throat. I'll be fine." He looked down the table at Frohike. "Where'd you put the powder?"  
  
"Pantry, same as everything else that wasn't soup mix. That's over the stove, because we ran out of room."

"And the peanut butter's on the fridge," Byers pointed out.  
  
Langly nodded, his mouth already full, again.  
  
"You want to do the attic first or the cemetery?" Mary asked, glancing at Byers to confirm she was eating at a reasonably normal pace, for this crowd.  
  
"Attic." Langly swallowed before he went on. "We might not need the cemetery, if there's something in the attic that tells us what the hell happened."  
  
Mary shook her head. "We're doing the cemetery no matter what. Paperwork is what someone _says_ happened. I want the evidence to back it up."  
  
Frohike looked across the table at Byers. "Can we keep her?"  
  
"Do you really want two of us looking up every time you yell 'Langly'?" Langly asked, standing up, plate in hand.  
  
"Why would I call you _both_ Langly, when I can call you--"  
  
"I swear to god, I will come over there and give you the matching black eye I owe you, Frohike."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Happy birthday to me!~~


	12. Chapter 12

"Saw a guy with a look on his face like that once," the young officer who'd been handling the surveillance data muttered to Rossi, as she stopped in the doorway of the room the FBI had been using, to get a better look at Reid, who stood with the white boards arced around in front of him, marker in one hand, glassy-eyed and sweating. "He was on a shitton of PCP. Took thirteen shots to bring him down."  
  
"I've seen Agent Reid get shot a couple of times." Rossi nodded, a faint smile on his face. "I aspire to take a bullet as well as he does. Actually, I aspire to avoid getting shot, but if I have to, I can only hope I'm half as resilient. He'd be _terrifying_ on PCP."  
  
"You know I can hear you, right?" Reid asked, still unmoving, his lack of focus offering a panoramic view of the information around him. If he stared at it long enough, something would fall into place.  
  
They had a week until the next murder. They had an idea of the upcoming victim's attributes. But, they still had no evidence that pointed toward a killer. Nothing that added to the profile beyond the fact that the UnSub had been willing to expand his range for the perfect victim, but still brought the body back into the city to set the scene. It was an accusation -- he was sure of that, and JJ had agreed. An indictment of the city, that these people had become successful. But, maybe Alvez was onto something with the idea that the UnSub was trying to preserve the victims and use them as heroic figures for the next generation. Simmons thought he was wrong, because the bodies weren't preserved at all. But, they _had_ been washed and dressed. They weren't displayed violently or even disrespectfully, but posed in the same way as the dolls they appeared to represent.  
  
His phone rang, cutting off Rossi's response, and he hoped it was JJ, with more information. "Reid."  
  
The voice was not the one he'd expected. "I need to talk to you."  
  
"Then why are you _calling_ me?" Reid put the cap back on the marker and dropped it into the tray under one of the boards, gesturing for Rossi and the officer whose nametag he hadn't yet gotten close enough to read to get out of the doorway. He wasn't taking this call anywhere someone could overhear it. "And more to the point, why are you calling me on _this_ phone?"  
  
"Because I can't remember your other number, right now, and you pulled the door a lot tighter after the other night. I hope I didn't cross a line--"  
  
"I'm willing to discuss this with you, Agent Villette, but I'm currently walking through a police station. Give me about forty seconds to get somewhere I can guarantee local confidentiality. Actually, just let me call you back."  
  
" _I'd_ still be on a Bureau phone." The phone didn't filter out Chaz's sigh.  
  
The rest of that filled itself in as Reid ducked out the back door and stepped into the corner beside the stairs that was surrounded with cigarette butts. If he used Langly's phone to call back, the number would be available to the Bureau. Which is also why Chaz wouldn't have used it, even if he _could_ remember it. Which wasn't right at all. Chaz's memory was better than his own.  
  
"Start at the beginning."  
  
"I don't know where the beginning is." An unusually awkward moment hung between them, before Chaz spoke again. "I'm sorry about the other night and the morning I drove you to the airport."  
  
"I'm not sorry about the other night. Mostly. Mostly not sorry. That might have been more enjoyable if JJ hadn't shown up with dinner right at the end of it." Reid cleared his throat and went on, before Chaz could say another word. "And I'm not actually sure how much of that morning was you. I'm quite ill, and there's a good chance I already was, so if you're still feeling it, you can blame it on _me_."  
  
"It's why you're holding the door, isn't it? You're trying to keep me from feeling it."  
  
"I'm distracted enough for both of us." Reid sniffed and coughed. "And I'm standing in the only clear corner in a snowy parking lot in Idaho, surrounded by the smells of urine and stale cigarette smoke, because I'm not having this conversation where we'll be overheard."  
  
"Let go of the door, and I'll take my chances. We can have this conversation somewhere warmer, possibly with coffee." A laugh slipped out of Chaz's mouth, more surprised than amused. "And maybe I can lend you my brain, if you're distracted. Which is actually why I'm calling you. I'm still circling the hospital case like a vulture, but there's nothing else on the radar, here, and we don't have an invite, yet. I've been twiddling my thumbs for days, and there's only so much time one man can spend liveblogging his own descent into terminal boredom."  
  
"We've got two thirds of a profile, half a motive, and no leads. My entire team is out on this one. All of us. There's nothing here."  
  
"Spencer? I hate to say it, but _you're_ not there. Not if you're--"  
  
Reid hung up without a word and put the phone back into his pocket, storming up the stairs back into the warmth of the building, where at least the unceasing flow of snot didn't burn against his upper lip. It would, if he kept wiping it, though. Still, the idea of not wiping it was worse, and for a moment, he wondered how stupid he'd look with cotton balls crammed in his nostrils. He could breathe through his mouth!  
  
He was not thinking of how absolutely offended he was at the suggestion he was anything but entirely present, even as another wave of dizziness slammed against the inside of his head. He pushed his hands into his pockets, not to have to explain why they were clenched into fists, which really was less to do with the conversation he wasn't having with Chaz and everything to do with not falling, as he made his way back across the station. He hadn't made any mistakes, and he wasn't going to start, now.  
  
Aside from the part where they hadn't saved the dentist.  
  
But, the pattern to that point had been entirely victims from inside the city limits, and even as he thought it, it was a weak excuse. They hadn't had the manpower to stretch even as far as they had, and he'd just taken it on faith that the UnSub wouldn't go outside the established bounds in pursuit of the perfect victim. Really, he _had_ made a mistake, and it had cost someone's life. And probably someone else's if they didn't figure out what they'd been missing. If _he_ didn't get his head out of his ass.  
  
The team would function without him -- he'd spent months in prison, and they'd still closed cases -- but, if he was here, he had to really be here, or he'd be leading them astray. Maybe Chaz was right, not that he'd ever say the words. Which was nothing to do with Chaz, really, and everything to do with the way his own team looked at him, judged him like he was still twenty-four. And had they ever really treated him like he was twenty-four? Probably not. Delicate and crazy, but valuable. And it was still like that, except now people _liked_ him, too, which just made everything more complicated. Sometimes, he wished he'd started with the Bureau later; wondered if maybe, if he'd been a little older, they'd have taken him as seriously as Lewis.  
  
But, none of this was going to solve the problem he was having right then. None of this was going to clear his head so he could focus properly on the case. But, he knew what would.  
  
He slipped into the bathroom, following the door, so he wouldn't lose his balance, leaned against the wall, and opened himself to Chaz. Both of them _would_ be better than just him, for now.

* * *

Langly had been intermittently swearing and sneezing for hours. He'd managed to avoid all the upstairs rooms, except the hall bathroom, which he'd been back and forth from, as the day wore on. Like Mary said, she'd taken most of the photos and financial paperwork, but there were still boxes of medical papers and trunks of old clothes -- he'd never seen his mother in those dresses. In one corner, he'd pulled a sheet off a pile he'd belatedly recognised as his own baby furniture.  
  
His dad, if that even was his dad, had just died of being old, according to the box that seemed to track his decline. Nothing terribly unusual, or at least nothing that stood out. He'd refused to retire and finally keeled over from what was probably a heart attack, while walking out the front door, one morning. Langly spent a moment wondering about the condition of his own arteries, as he paged through test results, checking to see if anything had been misfiled.  
  
Mary's head came up through the trapdoor. "Hey, it's getting dark. If we're going to the cemetery, tonight, there's probably enough time for you to clean up and eat something, before we should start heading in that direction."  
  
"Do we even ha--" Langly stopped and blinked. Of course they had water. Frohike had cooked with it. "Why's the water on before the power?"  
  
"Because it's a well, dumbass. Don't you remember anything?" Mary looked at him like he might actually be an alien.  
  
"All I remember is how much I wanted to leave." Langly untangled himself from the no longer neatly piled boxes scattered around him, and edged toward the centre of the room, on his knees, knowing there were only about three feet of the attic he could stand in, without cracking his head on the ceiling. He was, he realised, a good three or four inches taller than his dad had been, and he wondered when that had happened. "There's a lot of shit up here, and I haven't even gotten back to when I left, yet."  
  
"Yeah, there was more shit, before I got here, last time. I'm pretty sure my parents don't have what we're looking for, though. I took all the stuff about the house and the bills, in case we had to pick a fight about the appraisal. Also because Aunt Helen left everything to _you_ , but we still had to figure out what that meant." Mary backed down the ladder and stepped out of the way.  
  
Langly followed. "Yeah, except I'm dead, so it's yours."  
  
"Ehhh, kind of. The next nearest relatives were my _parents_ , not me. That's why the whole thing with the trust." Mary pushed the ladder up as Langly stepped aside, clearing the path to the bathroom door.  
  
"I'll pay you what it's worth," Langly promised, "and I'll throw in for pain and suffering. And, hey, if we're twins, why're you still in Nebraska? I mean, I couldn't wait to get out, speaking of pain and suffering."  
  
"My dad's not your dad, even if they are brothers. He was a lot less... stuck on the idea that I had to take his place. And you know what? Everybody knew what happened to you, by the time it mattered for me. Uncle Pete paid for my first year of college. I was just enough like you that nobody wanted to make the same mistake twice, and I wasn't his kid, so he could get his head around the idea I might make something of myself. Never stopped him talking shit about you, though, even though he thought you'd gotten murdered trying to hitchhike to California."  
  
"I destroyed my family, didn't I?" Langly sank to his knees under the weight of the idea. Last time he thought it, he'd already been sitting.  
  
"Uh, not sure where you're getting _that_. You probably saved my life. You probably saved both our lives." Mary sat down on the floor in front of him. "Listen, all I knew was I wanted to be as cool as you when I grew up. And I heard how terrible you were and everything, and all I got out of it was that you were out there, somewhere, doing what you always wanted, not that I was entirely sure what that was, but I was pretty sure there was probably a rock band and a mainframe in there somewhere. You were like Buckaroo Banzai or that guy from Wargames or something. Can you imagine what would've happened if you stayed? _That_ would've destroyed the family."  
  
Langly's spine straightened, his eyes dangerously round, as he jabbed a finger at Mary and opened his mouth.  
  
"They didn't know what to do with either of us. If you stayed, you'd have inherited a dairy farm you hated. If you stayed, _I'd_ have had to stay."  
  
"You did stay."  
  
"Do I _look_ like a farmer to you?" Mary shoved her cousin's shoulder with her foot. "I didn't stay. I came back. And not even that, really. I live in _York_. It's still Nebraska, but it's not out here. I came back because I could. Even if you wanted to, I don't think Uncle Pete would've stood for it, and that would've been a fight with Aunt Helen, because _she_ wanted you to come back, no matter what might have happened after you left."  
  
Langly stared at the door over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to go in there, aren't I?"  
  
"Shower. Eat. We're gonna go dig up a corpse, before you go back to your trip down memory lane." Mary stood easily and pulled Langly up with her. "Are you sure you want to come with me?"  
  
"I have to." Langly wiped his hands on his jeans and then looked down at himself, realising how much of his clothing was covered in ingrained dust and grit.  
  
"So, wear something else. You packed clothes, right?" There was a pause, but no immediate answer, and Mary laughed. "How did you survive this long? Throw your clothes out here and I'll see if Fitz can figure out the washer and dryer."  
  
"I packed _clothes_!" Langly sounded entirely offended, and then swallowed and shot a look at his old bedroom door. "Can you, ah... go see if my old Sex Pistols t-shirt is still there?"  
  
"It's not." Mary grinned. "I stole it."  
  
Langly sputtered.  
  
"You were dead at the time!"  
  
Langly rolled his eyes, and stepped backward into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, before he realised he'd left his bag downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter took forever because my entire life is on f-- well, no. _Underwater_ is a little more accurate.


	13. Chapter 13

Belatedly, Langly realised a jacket might've been a good idea. He definitely missed the scarf Reid had made him, that he'd never gotten back after he got kidnapped. He also rather missed the shirt he'd been wearing, but far less than he missed the scarf, as the snow drifted down across his back. At least he had a hat -- the hat was a must, because it would keep his hair from contaminating any potential samples. He really did know better. He'd known better than to go without a jacket for years, but Maryland had such mild winters, and it's not like he was usually out in them, any more.  
  
Digging up a frozen grave in the middle of the night, in the middle of December, just might not have been one of the best ideas he'd ever had, but he wasn't sure they'd have another chance, especially now that they'd started. Damage to the grave would draw attention to it. They didn't need to dig up the whole coffin, but they did need to get down to it, so while Langly and his cousin went at it with pick and shovel, Byers kept soaking the ground and Frohike followed with the flamethrower. The heat and water loosened the ground, so the deeper they got, the easier it was to get the dirt out. And the harder it was to keep the sides of the hole from sliding in.  
  
They hadn't, Langly was finally willing to admit, thought this quite all the way through. Mostly, though. At least they were ready for the frozen ground.  
  
"Stop." Frohike held out a hand and dropped into a crouch, pointing toward the headlights on the road that led through the middle of the cemetery.   
  
"We're not going to be able to explain this, are we?" Langly peered over the edge of the hole he and Mary had wedged themselves down into. They were barely deep enough for him to get his shoulders below the lip, sitting.  
  
"Of course we are. I work for the CDC." Mary tugged her hat down around her ears and watched the car pass slowly through the cemetery. "Which isn't actually relevant, but you mention it and people just find excuses to go away. It might catch fire on Monday, but by then, we'll probably have what we need."  
  
Byers stayed as small as he could behind Helen's gravestone, eyes squeezed shut. He'd been through worse, but not recently. "Let's just not have that problem at all. Let's just not get caught digging up a grave, even if we _do_ have the right to be here."  
  
"No, no, no my god, oh crap!" Langly hissed, throwing his back against one wall of the pit and bracing his knees against the other side.  
  
"You all right, down there?" Frohike asked, quietly, still watching the car.  
  
"Another mudslide. Now is not the time. _Never_ is really the best time. I would really be okay with never!"  
  
"It's fine. We're almost there, anyway," Mary assured him, as the car pulled out the farther cemetery gates.  
  
They could hear the faint sound of the gate clanking shut.  
  
"We're like three feet in." Langly looked at his cousin as if she were crazy. "We're not getting a coffin until we're down as far as my head."  
  
"Sure we are." Mary unfolded herself and offered him her hand. "Nobody actually buries six feet deep for a single burial. And even if it was, that would be the bottom, not the top. We just have to get down to the top, assuming it's still intact. I'm just glad we didn't spring for the vault, or we'd have to bring in heavy equipment to get the lid off."  
  
Langly blinked, brow crinkling as he pulled himself back to his feet and part of the wall behind him slid down over his ankles. Then it came to him. "Oh, right, you were here for the funeral, weren't you."  
  
"I helped make the arrangements. I know exactly what we're standing on. I just don't know if he's related to us." Mary cleared the fallen mud with her shovel, and dug in again, stopping suddenly. "Okay, we've hit it. You should get out, because I need more space. Once I've got it clear, we bust the lock off it and open the head end. Thank god for half view caskets, or we'd be digging all night. _You_ probably don't want to get too close -- I'm not taking bets on whether we've got decomp or bones, at this point, and if it's decomp, I don't need you blowing chunks where I'm trying to take a sample."  
  
"Vivid, but probably accurate." Byers nodded and debated rinsing the mud off Langly, before deciding mud was probably warmer than water. Still, it was a good thing they'd thought to bring tarps, because the rental car did not need to end up covered in grave mud.  
  
Mary traded Langly for the pick and cleared a bit more around the hinges and another couple of inches around the rest of the edge, before using the point of the pick to break the edge of the casket around the hasp.  
  
"Mask," she said, holding a hand out, and Frohike provided it, along with the rest of her bag, and she lifted herself out of her own way. Pausing, Mary turned her head from side to side before pointing. "You're going to want to be upwind, just in case. All of you."  
  
It didn't help. Frohike paled and pressed his scarf closer against his face. Byers staggered back, covering his nose and mouth with one arm. Langly leaned over his mother's gravestone and lost everything he hadn't yet had a chance to throw up that day.  
  
Mary didn't say a word, trying to keep her mouth closed against the stench that seeped in around the edges of the mask, as she lay next to the grave, trying to extract teeth without dropping them into the putrid soup in the bottom of the casket, as her hands quickly chilled in thin rubber gloves. In the end, she pried out almost half of them, trying to find the most intact teeth. The ones she didn't take slid loosely back into place. After a moment's debate, she cut away the last tissue holding one of the clavicles and dropped that into a plastic bag. Finally she closed the lid and got up, putting the sample container into her bag.  
  
Peeling off the gloves, she tossed them into another bag and pulled her winter gloves back on. "Somebody want to help me push all the dirt back in, so we can get the hell out of here?"

* * *

Mary had driven back to her lab in York, leaving the three of them alone in the farmhouse. She'd promised to wait for the paternity test -- that one would only take a few hours, but she'd come back up before the long comparison finished -- another couple of days, and the results would send themselves to her, wherever she was.  
  
Langly was curled up against the kitchen cabinets, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his eyes squeezed shut. "You can sleep wherever the hell you want, as long as it's not my bed. I'm the only person who has ever slept in that bed, and it stays that way."  
  
"You barely made it up the stairs to take a shower, Langly," Frohike reminded him.  
  
"I'll go with you," Byers volunteered. "I know this is hard, but if that's where you want to sleep, I'll sit with you, so you don't have to face it alone."  
  
"It's my _bedroom_ , Byers. Scariest thing in there is going to be my dirty laundry from thirty years ago and maybe a mouse." Langly paused, eyes finally opening. He stared across the kitchen for a few moments. "Okay, if there's mice, you're coming with me. I don't have enough hands to be throwing mice out the window without freezing the house out."  
  
Frohike checked the time. "I'm going to try the attic, again. I know you spent hours up there, already, but I'm shorter. We're looking for anything about your birth or fertility treatments, right?"  
  
"If you find any of my mother's medical records from before I was born, those count," Langly realised he couldn't feel the fingers on his right hand any more and loosened his grip on his wrist.  
  
"Come on." Byers held out a hand. "You look exhausted, and I know you haven't been eating enough. Get some sleep and we'll make sure you get enough to eat, tomorrow."  
  
"I'd be fine if I could stop throwing it up," Langly muttered, grabbing Byers's hand and hauling himself to his feet. He blinked, straightened. "What day is it?"  
  
"I think it's Saturday, now. Why?"  
  
"I have to go somewhere Monday night. Quick trip. I have to ... check on something. I'll be back before Wednesday."  
  
"Secrets?" Frohike asked, rolling his eyes. "Now?"  
  
Byers pinned Frohike with a look. "Count the days, Frohike."  
  
Frohike tapped his fingers against his palm as Byers led Langly out of the room, without any further explanation.  
  
"You know what this is like," Langly said, coming to a dead stop at the base of the stairs.  
  
"I do. I remember the first time I came home, after I left to go to college." Byers put an arm around Langly's shoulders, standing on the bottom step. "I was lucky because my family was still alive. You're lucky, because there's no one left to judge you."  
  
"Except you."  
  
"Pretty sure if I was going to judge you, it would've been when you threw up on your glasses and I had to go get them for you." Byers's look said he'd expected better of Langly, even if he wasn't sure why. "Whatever happens, I'm not telling Mary and I'm not telling Frohike. Well, not unless you suddenly have a flashback to something that would make sense of all this."  
  
"Yeah, that's a reason." Langly nodded, leaving it ambiguous whether he meant a reason to judge him or a reason to share. He closed his eyes and took a breath, stepping up onto the staircase that stretched before him. He'd done this like four times today, he could do it again. Except, this time, he wasn't just facing the ghosts of his parents. This time he was facing the ghost of himself, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like what he saw. "Just don't let me fall down the stairs."  
  
"Have I ever?"  
  
"Okay, that wasn't stairs, that was--" Langly tipped his head and got three more steps. "Jimmy, not you."  
  
"Jimmy? Did you seriously just mistake me for Jimmy?" Byers sputtered, horrified.  
  
"Look, it was like twenty years ago and I was getting shot at, okay? I do remember it being Jimmy, but I had to think about it for a minute, since the first thing I remember is _falling_!" Somehow, Langly made it to the top of the stairs, not realising it until he went to step up again and didn't find a place to put his foot. He lurched onto the landing, eyes locked on the bathroom ahead of him. The bathroom he'd been in and out of all day. Right. Go to the bathroom, turn around, hang a right...  
  
He put a hand on the doorknob of his old room and just... stared at it.  
  
"It's not going to be like you left it," Byers pointed out. "You know Mary's been in here, and probably your parents, after you disappeared."  
  
"And maybe somebody from the Sheriff's Department." Langly's hand tightened, knuckles whitening as he tried to make himself open the door. "I don't think I ever mentioned it, but I was _seventeen_." He swallowed. "And I walked to York, in the middle of the night. All the goddamn way to York, to get a bus. It was... longer than I thought it was going to be, but I did it. If I tried to thumb it, somebody was going to call my parents. Somebody would've taken me home, and I had to _go_. I had to get to where nobody knew me, and I was just some nameless college dweeb trying to get back to the coast before classes started. And I did it. And I never looked back, because it wasn't the right thing to do, it was just the best thing possible. One day I woke up, and I knew I didn't live in the world I knew I wanted to, and if I didn't get the hell out and do something, I was just going to give up entirely. So, I did. And I didn't say a word to anyone. Didn't leave a note. Didn't stop to think about it. I just threw a bunch of my crap in the backpack I still had when you met me, and ran before I could change my mind."   
  
He rested his head on the still-closed door. "Somewhere in the middle of the Reagan administration, I grew up and realised not everybody had taken Cap'n Toby and Lambchop as seriously as I did. I don't know. It wasn't really a revelation; on some level, I always knew that, but knowing it and rushing off half-cocked to save the world are two totally different things. And I'm pretty sure Cap'n Toby would not have approved of me selling bootleg cable converters in Baltimore, but it's a little difficult being seventeen and homeless in a city you've only seen on television. I got my shit together in a hurry. Trust me. By the time I punched Frohike in the face, I had a straight job and a place to live."  
  
"And you were still selling bootleg cable." Byers couldn't quite manage to sound as sympathetic as he meant to.  
  
"And I had a grand total of thirty-eight dollars to my name when I got arrested over your crazy tooth-pulling girlfriend, Byers, so you can shove it up your ass and spin!" Langly threw the door open so hard it bounced off the wall, and he caught it on his forearm as he stormed into the room, just to step away from Byers.  
  
He flicked on the light.  
  
It was clean. Way too clean. His computer, the pride of his teen years, was gone, and he could only hope Mary had gotten it. He knew she'd taken the poster. He knew she'd been through his shirts, at least, and she was probably tall enough to have stolen most of his clothes. Not that he could complain. He probably didn't fit in his jeans from when he was seventeen, any more.  
  
The Star Wars sheets were still on his bed. She hadn't taken those. He wanted to ask if she'd made the bed, when he said he was coming back, or if it had been this way since his mother tried to set everything right, in case he came home. Which, he supposed, he finally had. Much, much too late.  
  
He'd been too tall for the twin bed under the window for years, before he'd left, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten taller after he left, not that he really had any concept of his own height beyond 'a shitton taller than Frohike' for a lot of those years. Still, he crossed to the bed and threw himself on it, kicking his shoes off the end that made a pocket with the side of his half-empty desk. It didn't smell like his room any more. It smelled like it had been cleaned half to death -- cedar and Windex permeated everything.  
  
For the second time in his life, he felt like he didn't belong here.  
  
Rolling over, Langly crammed himself under the windowsill, shoulders folding in, and he looked at Byers, who still hung back awkwardly in the doorway.  
  
"If you're okay in here..." Byers eyed Langly with a caution that begged an answer.  
  
"Take off your stupid tie and come to bed."  
  
"You just got through saying nobody was sleeping in your bed except you!" Byers protested, hearing the squeak of the stairs behind him. Frohike had waited for them to get though whatever critical drama Langly meant to have, but he hadn't waited quite long enough. Stepping just into the room, Byers quietly closed the door.  
  
"Because I'm a grown-ass man and I changed my mind, okay? Maybe you're not Farah Fawcett, but maybe this place is a little more fucked up than I thought it was going to be!" Langly huffed, not quite looking at Byers. "Do whatever the hell you want, Byers."  
  
Byers peeled off his suit jacket and draped it over the desk chair, following it with his tie. He pushed his shoes under the chair and debated taking off the rest of his clothes before realising he'd left his bag in the hall after the post-gravedigging shower, and had nothing to change into. Like hell was he going to get his pyjamas if Frohike was standing out there.  
  
Langly didn't look up again, until Byers turned off the light, leaving him lit by the snow-reflected moonlight through the window. And Langly could honestly say this had never been in any of his dreams. He'd thought, for a few hours, that if anyone was going to join him in this bed, it would be Reid, but somehow, Byers seemed even more fitting.  
  
He kicked the sheet out from under himself and reached for the folded blankets draped across the foot of the bed.  
  
"Farrah Fawcett? Really?" Byers sat on the edge of the bed and let Langly pull him down. "Not Heather Locklear?"  
  
Langly scoffed, pulling the blankets over himself and Byers. "That was _later_. Farrah Fawcett was what you got, around here. I mean, there was obviously no, like your mom and Shari Lewis, and there was probably going to get your ass beat no, like Mitch Pickman's sister or Mrs. Anderson, the gym teacher's wife. And then there was Farrah Fawcett, if you could get to the television at the right time and hold the antenna just right. Dad wasn't real big on me watching Charlie's Angels reruns, but he could kiss my chrome-plated ass, by the time I was old enough to care."  
  
"Your bed smells funny." Byers turned his head and sniffed the pillow. "Not to be unsympathetic, but--"  
  
"No, it totally does. Smells like mothballs and somebody else's laundry soap." Langly rolled onto his back, shoving his shoulder under Byers, and pulled. "C'mere. If you put your head on my shoulder, you don't have to smell it."  
  
"But, then you're still going to smell it!"  
  
"Like hell I am. Not if I can mash my nose into the top of your head."  
  
"Okay, except we're both like six feet tall, and this bed is... not," Byers realised, as he stretched out along Langly's side.  
  
"My god, Byers, it's like you've forgotten how to sleep on a couch with me." Langly rolled his eyes, finally pulling his glasses off and putting them on the windowsill.  
  
"Oh. Right. That would fit, wouldn't it." Byers curled up around Langly's side, feet still under the blanket.  
  
"I love you, even when you're a complete dumbass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight from 'my bathroom is flooded' into 'August is the month I like least', combined with the inevitable First Week Crazy that I actually get paid for! And a doctor. And a lot of anti-inflammatories. Ow. 
> 
> By which I mean, POSTING SCHEDULE, WHAT POSTING SCHEDULE???


	14. Chapter 14

Christmas was coming soon, and, as usual, Chaz tried not to think too hard about it. He'd bought gifts in October, for the most part, and they were already wrapped and stashed under his bed, and all that remained was to cook the entirely ridiculous dinner that would take up half the house. Brady hosted the barbecue, he got Christmas. When there was a Christmas, which there might not be. It was a stressful time of year. People lost their shit more frequently near family-oriented holidays, which meant more conversions and more serial and mass murders. Ah, holiday cheer.  
  
He'd thought about getting to spend Christmas with Langly and Reid, but that wasn't going to happen. The shit had hit the fan a little early, and he was the last one in town, which he was still trying not to be. It wasn't like he was getting the present Hafidha didn't know he knew about until after New Years, at this rate. He'd overheard her on the phone, yelling in Italian, and caught enough to know that she'd tried to buy him baking pans, again, and again they'd been turned into a box of glitter, somewhere in the course of overseas shipping. There was no reason to be here. There were good reasons not to be here, like the call that was going to hit Agent Grafton's desk on Monday...  
  
And Grafton wasn't going to be there, because the sonofabitch had Christmas Eve off work, like everyone else who wasn't on call at all times for the weird shit.  
  
He could've planned this better. But, he hadn't.  
  
He turned down the oven, reset the timer, and went back to the living room, where he opened the case file Reid was working on. Something had to have been overlooked. The cars. When the killing had taken place outside the city limits, no one had looked at the cars again. Yes, there was a perfect target in the suburbs, but the imperfect targets hadn't been good enough for a reason, and the reason might have been that the surveillance had been spotted, causing a sudden change in plans. All it took was one patrol car parked somewhere unexpected to set off someone with existing suspicions. And if they'd checked more than one target, before heading out of the city, then somewhere, there'd be a duplicate. It was just a matter of pulling all the data together and checking for repeats.  
  
Maybe it was the boredom talking, but he wasn't quite ready to attribute the move out of the city limits to just finding the perfect victim. If he could pull this together in time, maybe he could get Reid home for Christmas. Still no Langly, though. That was ... less likely to work out quickly. At least Langly had the sense not to go alone, unlike _some people_ he could name. He pressed the back of his hand against his other palm until his wrist popped. Not everyone's families were ... _his_. Thankfully. Being some kind of low-budget research project might not actually be an improvement, though, however much he... then again, he had been a low-budget research project, and not for the first time, he considered sending Reyes a bag of flaming dogshit for Christmas. But, he wouldn't. He never did.

* * *

By the time JJ woke up, Reid had been awake for hours, which wasn't entirely unusual. What was unusual was that he was sitting bent over the tablet he hated to use, squinting at something on the screen. After a a few seconds, he picked it up and leaned back, tipping the tablet one way and his head the other.  
  
When he saw JJ staring curiously at him, he offered her the tablet. "Is that a three or a 'B'?"  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" JJ shifted down in the bed, letting her legs fall over the bottom, blanket still heaped across her lap as she reached out and took the tablet.  
  
"Villette gave me an idea, at about three this morning, and I'm trying to help him index the license plates from the surveillance photos." Reid picked up his coffee and tried to drink it, before realising the cup was empty, and he stood up to pour another and open the next box of tissues. "He's got a theory, and I'll give it to him, because we don't have anything else, that the killer spotted our surveillance and _then_ picked a target outside our range. It verges on paranoid, but I'd like to go home some time this week, so I'm about ready to try anything, and this is something I'll remain quite skilled at, provided I don't manage to sneeze my eyeballs out, which, implausible as it is, feels more and more likely with every passing day."  
  
"Wait, Villette called? Why didn't I hear that?" JJ rubbed her eyes and yawned looking from the tablet to Reid. "Get me a cup, while you're up?"  
  
"My phone's on vibrate and I took the call in the bathroom." It was ... mostly true. Ish. It just wasn't the answer to the question. Reid handed a fresh cup of coffee to JJ. "Coffee's a few hours old, but it's not worse than what we've got in the office."  
  
"Coffee in the office got better once you started hanging around with Villette." JJ took the coffee and handed back the tablet. "It's a three. There's just a shadow next to it."  
  
"Thanks." Reid sat back down, entering the number into the list just to look like he was doing something. Chaz typed faster, having an actual keyboard at his disposal. "Villette and I are willing to suffer very different indignities, so together we suffer far fewer of them. He has substantially less patience for bad coffee. He has, and I quote, 'suffered too much to let something so repairable pass'."  
  
"Like you with your chair cushion," JJ teased, as Reid continued to flip through images, typing one-fingered on the on-screen keyboard.  
  
"Hey, I'm a field agent. It's a lot harder to pursue a suspect with a bruised tailbone and lower back pain." A small smile turned up one side of Reid's mouth. "It's like Frank says: there comes a point where you have to stop pretending you're twenty-five."  
  
"You're not that--" JJ stopped and stared into the space between them. "How old are you, again?"  
  
"Rapidly creeping up on forty, thanks. I'm not that much younger than Garcia."  
  
"If you're almost forty, how old am _I_?" JJ had to stop and think about it for a moment. "That's it. That's how this is going to happen. I'm having a midlife crisis in a motel room in the middle of Idaho."  
  
"At least Idaho's not in front of the kids," Reid teased. "Should I be concerned? Are you going to trade Will in for a trophy husband, and buy a Porsche?"  
  
"Well, you're younger than he is, and you still don't _look_ forty!" JJ laughed into her coffee.  
  
Reid looked up from his work, face perfectly still, eyes unreadable. "Do not."  
  
"Spence. I'm kidding." JJ held up a hand defensively.  
  
"Just... don't." Unnaturally still, even in motion, Reid reached for his coffee, and then grabbed a tissue with the other hand. He took a moment to blow his nose, before he went on. "I'm still getting the jokes about you and Frank, from people who weren't even _there_ when we... failed the first date. It's not funny. It might have been funny the first time, if it was _Morgan_. Maybe. I don't need one of us saying something in front of anyone that's going to make this worse than it is. Make jokes about Alvez. He's got a lot less caught up in the idea."  
  
"Who the _hell_ thought that was funny? Have they _seen_ anyone else you dated? There's not even a 'haha, your type' in there!" JJ sat up a little straighter, eyes blazing, before something occurred to her and she hid a smile behind her coffee. "Okay, but if not you, what about Villette? He's younger than you, right?"  
  
"He's a little tall to fit in a Porsche. I'm telling you, Alvez is the way to go, here."

* * *

By midday, they'd called Prentiss and excused themselves from the rest of the day. They were following a potential lead, JJ said, though it took her three tries to convince Prentiss they were actually onto something and she wasn't just covering for how sick Reid had gotten.  
  
By the eleventh set of plates, Reid had shut himself in the bathroom again, and all JJ could hear was running water. He'd been doing something that ended in him breathing better, every couple of hours, when his nose started to whistle on the inhale, and actually getting oxygen to his brain seemed to be helping both his mood and his transcription speed. JJ figured she'd leave him to it, unless she actually heard him fall -- which still looked possible, but she'd seen him keep his balance and his wits about him in worse shape than this.  
  
In the bathroom, Reid sat on the edge of the bathtub, water still running in the sink, as he checked his messages. The light was on, and he knew Langly had sent something straight to messages rather than wake him, which he almost appreciated, but he wished he'd gotten a call.  
  
The sound of Langly's voice explained why he hadn't -- a hoarse whisper that explained itself, after a moment. "I'd call, but I don't want to wake Byers. Made it to Nebraska. Everything's completely surreal. I want to be here even less than I did when I got on the plane. Did the, ah... thing I came out here to do. We should have news by Monday. Can't get the last of the house straightened out until a little later in the week -- have to get everything turned on before it can be inspected, but I'm not expecting a problem."  
  
There was a pause, here, as if Langly had stopped transmitting more than it took to hold the connection for a few seconds. "Sorry. Byers. I'm -- _we're_ \-- I used to live in this room. I don't think I fit in this bed any more. I don't think I fit in this bed, when I left, but like... you don't notice when it happens that slow. I definitely don't think both of us would fit in this bed -- at least Byers is a little _shorter_ than me -- but I wish you were here. I wish you could see this place -- it's not like I left it, but it's been thirty-something years. Later. When it's _my_ house. We'll come out together and you can tell me what you think it should look like. I really don't want to be here. I don't want to remember any of this."  
  
Reid could feel the sweat beading on his own back as he thought of what it would be like to go back to the house he'd grown up in. Some things didn't need to be revisited. He'd done the best he knew how to do, because no one else would do it.  
  
"I just want to be with you. And, in case I didn't say it, I love you. Call me when you wrap the case. Call me whenever you want, really, but ... uh ... okay, I have to stop talking now, because Byers is going to end me if I wake him up again."  
  
Reid listened to the message one more time, before he turned off the sink and dried his face again. He looked at himself in the mirror -- not good, but better. His skin still looked waxy, and his eyes were bloodshot, but at least some of the swelling in his face and neck had gone down. He thought he'd be over this by _Friday_. It was now Saturday night. If he could keep this up, though, he'd be better, soon. All he had to do was get most of the infection _out_ and kill the rest. These things weren't supposed to last long. He was sure if he kept leaning on it, he'd get rid of it soon.  
  
Mostly, he wanted his brain back. He didn't think quite as well when the room was spinning. But, he also wanted to be sure he wasn't going to pass it on to Langly, if he got home and did all the things he was looking forward to.  
  
He let himself out of the bathroom, only to find JJ showing their work so far to Rossi.  
  
"I was just asking how JJ had managed not to catch whatever the hell has your nose running like a tapped keg. She assures me it's because she has kids."  
  
"Actually, it probably is, and if you don't want to catch it, you might not want to spend too much time in here. I've tried to keep everything as clean as possible, but there's not a lot I can do about the air, and I've spent more time in this room than I spent in the police station." Reid slid back into his seat and pulled his tablet toward him, checking to see how far Chaz had gotten while he'd been otherwise occupied.  
  
"You really think this guy spotted us and found another victim that fast?" Rossi reached into the bag sitting on the dresser and pulled out something foil-wrapped, passing it to Reid. "Garlic bread. It's good for you."  
  
"You stopped to get dinner for us?"  
  
"Everyone else went for dinner, Spence." JJ pointed across the room at the alarm clock between their beds. "We're the only ones who haven't eaten, yet."  
  
"Right, right. I just got so caught up in this..." Reid nudged Chaz in the back corner of his mind, only to be rewarded with the memory of half a hashbrown casserole and a bag of M&Ms. Of course. Chaz didn't forget to eat. Reid wasn't sure he _could_. A warning pressure in the back of his head was the only response to that, and he let the subject lie. "Once we get all of them entered, it should be easy to figure out if any of them occur in more than one list, and if they do, we can run that against the traffic cameras near the victim's house."  
  
"Again, picking a victim we wouldn't be looking at _that fast_?" Rossi shook his head and pulled out the chair furthest from Reid, carefully stacking the pages scattered across the table to make room for food.  
  
"It's not that fast." Reid put the tablet aside and turned his attention to unwrapping the garlic bread. "Remember, if you're looking for Asian dentists in Idaho Falls, a Google search is going to give you everything even slightly related to that."  
  
"When did you learn to use Google?" JJ looked entirely surprised at the idea.  
  
"I don't _like_ computers. I'm not completely incompetent." Reid shrugged. "Besides, I'm dating Frank. He talks while he's working, because he knows I don't understand any of it. I may have figured some things out along the way."  
  
Rossi nodded slowly. "So, you think the victim got filtered out of the initial list, because they didn't actually live inside the city, so when 'inside the city' started looking like a bad idea..."  
  
"The next best choice was already available." Reid took a bite of the garlic bread and realised how hungry he actually was. "Olive oil."  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to let them give you _butter_ , in the shape you're in." Rossi squinted at the writing on the takeout boxes and slid one across the table to Reid, with a plastic fork. "Garlic chicken, and a linguine with olive oil, olives, and garlic. I'd have gotten a different sauce, but everything with tomato had romano. I had to improvise."  
  
Reid looked down at the food in front of him and a tiny smile settled onto his face, before he looked back up. After all these years, he'd never actually stopped being surprised by the kindness of the people around him, when it really came down to it. "Thank you."  
  
"And for you," Rossi pushed the other container toward JJ, with a flourish, "all the cheese he's not having. Chicken parmigiana seemed like a safe bet. Absolutely smothered in mozzarella. Have to make sure you eat enough to make up for spending the day with the guy who doesn't eat unless you put it in front of him and tell him it's there, a few times."  
  
JJ covered her mouth and tried not to look as amused as she very definitely was.  
  
"Hey!" Reid protested, probably not for the last time. "I eat! Rossi, no, I have taken you to restaurants I like. You have _watched me_ order food and eat it. I'm almost forty, and I somehow haven't starved to death, so I must be eating while you're not looking."  
  
JJ raised an eyebrow and waited for Reid to look at her, before she tipped her head toward Rossi. "Trophy husband?"  
  
"Doesn't count. He's older than Will."


	15. Chapter 15

"The two of you work like machines!" Garcia chirped, as she opened the file Villette had sent her.  
  
"Three of us," Reid corrected. "JJ was working just as hard as we were. Probably harder than I was."  
  
" _You_ should not even be out of bed, Spencer, so don't give me that." Garcia flipped through the lists, getting a feel for the format. "So, run these against each other, and if there's any duplicates, pull out which lists, how many iterations, and then fetch the owners?"  
  
"Last sheet." Reid sounded faintly amused. "Villette already ran the duplicates check. We just need you to find the owners and send the basics. And also to run the duplicates against the traffic cameras near the latest victim's house. There's no guarantee we'll get a match, because I'm pretty sure you can get in and out of that neighbourhood without hitting any major intersections, but if there _is_ a match, we've almost definitely got the right car."  
  
"One of my boy geniuses knows how to use a spreadsheet properly?" Garcia gasped dramatically. "I'm going to go down the hall and shower him with kisses, just as soon as I set up this search. Anything special you want me to keep an eye out for?"  
  
"Men in their late thirties or early forties, preferably with older sisters and no children, but we'll want all of them, because we're not actually sure what we're looking for. I might be wrong about the motive, and that would significantly alter the profile. There's not as much to work with, here, as I'd like."  
  
Garcia winced at the sound of Reid holding the phone away from his ear to blow his nose.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Don't you worry. I'll get you all of these drivers in a few minutes, and you should have the traffic camera matches by tomorrow morning. I'd be faster, but I'm not sure how accurate the OCR is, and I'm going to want to double-check them. What's the time for those?"  
  
"Sunset Thursday to sunrise Friday. It's a little more than we actually need, but those are the limits of the surveillance, and the body was found just after sunrise, same as all the others. If Villette's right, the surveillance had to be in place to trigger the change in victim selection, so it's not going to be earlier." Reid tried unsuccessfully to disguise a yawn.  
  
"You go back to sleep," Garcia commanded, the sound of typing stopping. "I'm going to call JJ and make sure she brings you some hot soup, when you wake up. I'm serious, Spencer. _Stay in bed_. I'll take care of this and get it back to you, but I do not want to hear that you're sulking in front of the evidence board. You need to rest."  
  
"I sleep plenty," Reid lied, knowing damn well that he was probably supposed to be getting twice as much sleep as he usually managed in a night. "I bet you don't talk to Simmons like this."  
  
"I don't have to talk to Simmons like this! Simmons has the sense god gave a rubber unicorn! Go to bed, Spencer, or I'm calling your boyfriend."  
  
"I'm not sure that's the threat you think it is." Reid cleared his throat and hung up without another word.

* * *

Langly was staring out the window at the chicken coops, where he'd been since the night before. Everything was dead, here -- the farm long abandoned. Everything he thought he knew had been flipped upside down and shaken. It was good he was buying the farm, because there was no way in hell he'd inherit it, now. Not, he admitted to himself, that he actually wanted it. But, it seemed like the right thing to do.  
  
Byers came into the kitchen to make coffee, and yawned loudly in greeting.  
  
"They're not my parents," Langly said, without preamble. "Nobody's ever going to be able to prove who I am by digging up their graves for a DNA comparison."  
  
"What about your mother?" Byers asked, sensibly, filling the percolator. "You could still be related to her. We only checked your dad. Maybe it's true. Maybe you are the mailman's son."  
  
"Mary called an hour ago." Langly finally looked away from the window. "She had some of mom's things from when she packed up the house. We're not related to her, either. Or to Aunt Ruthie, not that _that_ was likely. She's _pretty_ sure we're human, though. Like, completely human. But, Villette says the Anomaly doesn't have a genetic marker, so how much does that really say? And she doesn't have the samples _we've_ seen of the alternative."  
  
"Langly, no matter what you are, you're still my best friend." Byers took two cups out of a cabinet and set them on the table in front of Langly. "And you still need to eat breakfast."  
  
Langly opened his mouth to protest, but it only enhanced the sound of his stomach growling. "Where's Frohike?"  
  
"Still in bed. He didn't come down from the attic until he ran out the battery lantern, last night. You were already up, when I heard him come down."  
  
"So, which one of us is cooking, if we're short the Breakfast Master?"  
  
Byers was a little disturbed that Langly didn't immediately volunteer himself, but the idea of cooking in this kitchen was probably upsetting. "I don't think pancakes and eggs would be that difficult, in someone else's kitchen. The ingredients are still ours, even if the pans aren't. I can do it."  
  
"They had to know I wasn't theirs." Langly crossed his ankles under the chair and folded his arms across his chest. He stared into space until he heard Byers inhale. "Pancakes and eggs. Yeah. Good plan."  
  
Byers eyed Langly for a long moment before he went to look for a frying pan. "Mary's due back tomorrow, right? Bringing the full reports?"  
  
"Yeah, and then she's going to run me down to York. Like I said, I'll be back probably Tuesday night. No later than Wednesday morning." Langly tried to sound casual.  
  
"Are you sure this is wise?"  
  
"You don't even know what the hell I'm doing! Am I sure it's wise? Really, Byers? Do I look like an idiot?" Langly's eyes flashed and the chair squeaked against the floor as it turned with him.  
  
"You don't want me to answer that," Byers warned, bringing over the coffee and a trivet. "But, I'm going to. You look like a fool in love, and _I'd know_."  
  
"Yeah, well, unlike _some people_ , I'm not going to have to go on a ten-year tour of the US to find my boyfriend. I know where he is. It's Christmas. I just have to make sure the present gets to him. And make a few calls to check on the other present that's not going to matter until he gets home."  
  
Byers sighed, a hand stretched across his eyes. "You know how upset he gets when you spend money on him. I know you know that, because you _told me_."  
  
"Well, _he_ already told _me_ I could buy him this, so I did!" Langly shot back, grabbing the coffee pot before it occurred to him the whole thing was metal and Byers was still holding the dish towel he'd carried it with. His lips thinned and his eyes widened as he let go, carefully moving his hand away from the pot, over the course of a few long, shaky breaths.  
  
Byers stared in horror, frozen in place.  
  
"If you tell Frohike," Langly pronounced each word as if it took the whole of his concentration, "I will kick your ass so hard there'll be a moon mission to retrieve it."  
  
"There's burn gel in my bag," Byers finally remembered, tossing the dish towel on the table and backing out of the kitchen, trying not to take his eyes off Langly. "Someone always bumps into the soldering iron. Usually me."  
  
Langly stared at his hand. The burn wasn't _that_ bad, it was just not somewhere he was prepared to deal with having a burn. But, it hadn't blistered. In fact, the longer he looked at it, the less sure he was that it would blister, which was weird. Hands blistered ridiculously, when you jumped current across them or caught a finger on the oven rack. He'd done so many stupid things to his hands over the years that he knew if it hurt like it had when he first tried to lift the pot, the skin should already be separating. But, it wasn't. In fact, he was getting dizzy, but it didn't hurt as much, either. Shock? It wasn't that bad! But, then, he'd been under a lot of stress the last few days, so maybe this was just the last straw.  
  
Byers came back in with the burn gel and found Langly staring. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, actually." Langly turned his hand palm-out and held it up to reveal a pink stripe that looked more like heat rash than a burn.  
  
"I thought you burned yourself..." Byers leaned in for a closer look.  
  
"So did I." Langly looked over his fingertips and caught Byers's eyes.

* * *

Chaz knocked on the doorframe of Garcia's office, leaning into the space where the door was cracked open. It reminded him of Hafidha's office, but a much fluffier version. In some ways, literally, he thought, eyeing the handful of little plush kittens balanced precariously over the top of a flatscreen. "You called?"  
  
Garcia turned around, opening her mouth and then closing it. She stared, wide-eyed, for a moment, before any words made it out of her mouth. "I completely forgot what day it was and thought you would be in the building. I'm so sorry. I texted you when I realised, but--"  
  
"Don't. I was looking for an excuse, and if I'm at this end of the hall, I'm not going to hear it from Falkner about coming in on the weekends." A wry smile that would've looked better on someone else twisted his mouth. "What do you need?"  
  
She pulled out the other chair and patted it, inviting him to sit. "First of all, I need to thank you for not being Reid. I love him, and he's very smart, but--"  
  
"He told you I did the spreadsheet, didn't he." Chaz laughed and folded himself into the chair, which was lowered to fit someone much shorter. He was still taller than Garcia, even sitting.  
  
"Brilliance should be rewarded, but so should practicality." Garcia pulled out one of the multitude of drawers on her desk and tossed a bag of chocolates into Chaz's lap. "This is from my super secret I've been here for thirty-seven hours and no woman can live on caffeine alone stash. Hope you're not allergic to nuts, because they're almond so I won't grind my teeth."  
  
Chaz looked down at the bag. "I'm confused."  
  
"I told Spencer I was going to shower you with kisses. I hope Hershey's count."  
  
Chaz stared at her, looked back down at the bag, looked back up at her, and finally started to laugh. "This is the best possible reason I could have driven across the bridge, today, thank you."  
  
"A bag of chocolate? Pretty sure you could've gotten that closer to home." Garcia peered at him over her glasses.  
  
"Kisses from the technical analyst who isn't my sister." Chaz peeled the wrapper off one of the chocolates and put it in his mouth. "So, now that we've established that you wish Spencer would demonstrate the basic computer skills we both know he has, what's up with the data?"  
  
"Good news, there's a couple of matches in the lists. Not so good news, most of them are people who live in that neighbourhood. Like six of these people live within a mile and a half circle." Grimacing, Garcia pulled up the map and nudged the monitor so Chaz could see. "There's a few that stand out, but I'm still running those against traffic cameras from major intersections near the last victim's house."  
  
"Neighbours. Crap. Well, those are... less likely to be our guy." Chaz ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the screen. "You want me to help you with the rest of them? Faster with two people. I'm assuming you're manually checking filtered sets?"  
  
"Of course." Garcia nodded. "But, I'm sure you have better things to do on a weekend than work on a case that's not even yours."  
  
"Spencer is going to make me crazy. I'm already a little off, but he's going to make me crazier. The faster this case is over, the sooner he will stop sneezing in my ear, from Idaho."  
  
"Why's he dragging you into it, anyway?" Garcia asked, eyeing Chaz curiously. "Our whole team is out there."  
  
"Because I'd do the same thing to him," Chaz admitted, after a moment spent tipping his head back and forth. "We're not as alike as some people like to say we are, but our approach to certain types of problem are similar enough that I can finish the sentences he forgot what he was talking about in the middle of." He held up a hand. "I know he wasn't that sick when he had anthrax -- he keeps saying it -- but he's that sick, now, probably because it's been almost a week, and I'm pretty sure he's not eating or sleeping nearly as much as he should be, because he's Spencer, and I've gathered that's inevitable."  
  
"So, you're the backup brain?"  
  
"Something like that." Chaz nodded and unwrapped another chocolate. "Like I said, in his shoes, I'd be doing the same thing to him. We think in ways more similar to each other than to anyone on either of our teams, so it kind of works out. Except he reads faster and I know spreadsheet formulas from a hole in the ground."  
  
"Well, I definitely benefit from Reid squared, now with added computer literacy, so you won't catch me complaining." Garcia stretched her fingers. "You serious about helping check the last few sets?"  
  
Chaz checked for a second keyboard and then pulled his laptop out of his bag, holding the duct-taped corner together as he opened it. "Gimmie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a deadline for something else, so what am I doing? *sighs*
> 
> Hey, guess who's a dumbass and forgot to actually insert a link to part of the story that _goes here_? Aww, yeah, this guy. Anyway, '[And Then Chaz Was Happy](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ambiguously_anomalous/works/18180131)' goes here.


	16. Chapter 16

"They're not our biological parents, Dick." Mary spread the paperwork across the dining room table, before she picked up a roll and smeared cream cheese on it. "None of them. We're not related to the Langlys, the Browns, or the Waverlys."  
  
"They had to know. At least _your_ parents had to know." Langly jabbed a finger in accusation, his other hand gripping a roll a little too tightly. He stuffed most of it in his mouth as breadcrumbs started to fall between his fingers.  
  
"I don't even know how to ask them! I know I'm not adopted! There are photos of my mom pregnant, and then in the hospital with a baby. Whatever we are, Ruth Brown gave birth to me." Mary hooked out a chair with her foot and dropped into it. "What are we even supposed to say? How the hell can I ask them this if I can't even tell them who you are?"  
  
"Shit." Langly jammed one hand under his glasses and rubbed his eye, wiping his other hand on his jeans before it came up to rub the other eye. "So, the general assumption is there's only two of us. If there's only two of us, and they _know_ , then there's only one person I could possibly _be_ , if I'm related to you."  
  
"The assumption is there's only two of you. Consider that until this point, the assumption was that there was only _one_ of you," Frohike pointed out, spooning jam into a roll he'd pulled the middle out of. "I can't be the only one thinking it. There's only two of you that we're _sure_ of. In which case 'Sorry, I'm from Baltimore' is a solid exit from that line of questions."  
  
"Look-- No. Just no! We are not a small army of alien clones, Frohike. There are _two of us_. Two. We're twins." Langly put his elbows on the table, hands not moving away from his face. "Which is weird, but I think we've established it's not completely implausible."  
  
"There's fifteen years between us," Mary said quietly. "How do we know there weren't more between us? If we're not related to our parents, then we're looking at something a lot more than just fertility treatments. We're both transplants."  
  
"I was born in nineteen sixty-eight, and that was a complete fairy tale in sixty-eight!" Langly insisted, glaring over the tops of his fingers, glasses askew.  
  
"Not quite," Byers cut in from the end of the table. "Live implants could be done, provided the material was fresh. The percentages weren't good, but you know as well as I do they were doing it with cows. It's frozen embryos that didn't work until later." He gestured at Mary with a butterknife.  
  
"Okay, fine, let's say for the sake of argument, because there's not really any other option that accounts for us not being related to any of our parents, that we're made from donated material from somewhere else--"  
  
Frohike sat up, looking like he'd been slapped. He pointed across the table at Langly and looked up at Mary. "Get a sperm count from him, and don't tell me how."  
  
" _What?_ " Both of Langly's palms hit the table like he was going to stand up, eyes wide.  
  
"You're probably sterile, Langly." Frohike held up a finger close to his chest. "If you're an experiment, you're probably completely sterile. If you're just borrowed from the neighbours, you won't be. But, I bet your... can I still say 'dad'? Your dad, rather than your sperm donor, would've had a low count, too, but not for the same reason. Look at the evidence. You're her cousin. What's the same between your parents. Your fathers are brothers, and both your mothers, who aren't related, went in for some kind of treatment because they couldn't get pregnant. You're both only children."  
  
"Okay, but I can assure all of you that _I'm_ not," Mary pointed to herself and leaned across Langly for the coffee pot.  
  
Byers looked up at her. "You wouldn't be. You're the second generation. He's the first. He's the proof the strain is viable."  
  
"Okay, there is one way to answer this question." Langly shoved himself out of his seat, lips so thin he might not have had any.  
  
"Back at the lab, thank you!" Mary grabbed her cousin's shoulder while he was still off balance and easily shoved him back into the seat. "I'm not driving across half of York county with a dixie cup of jizz in the cupholder, only to find out the sample's damaged at the end because _just do it in the lab like a sane person, Dick_." She glanced at Frohike. "But, you do have a point about our dads. There were some trends in pesticides and fertilisers that were eventually linked to fertility problems where they'd leaked into the water around the time our parents were kids. Their generation was huge. His, not so much. People seem to have recovered a bit by mine -- multiple-child families were normal again. But, right up around here, there's a blip in the population that lines up with some pesticide tests right after the war."  
  
Byers tipped his head back and counted. "Korea?"  
  
Mary shook her head. "World War Two. We're talking about people who were kids when they were exposed, so they're our parents' age."  
  
"Okay, I just have to say it. 'Our parents' age' is weird, because yes, I know our dads are brothers but my best friend is old enough to be your dad... without actually being Uncle Joe's age." Langly pointed at Byers.  
  
"Excuse you!" Byers sputtered. "I have a daughter and she's _nineteen_!"  
  
"Somebody let you lot have kids?" Mary's eyes rounded like she was simultaneously horrified and trying not to laugh.  
  
Byers sputtered more and Langly held up a finger.  
  
"This hole is deep enough without you digging, Byers." He looked up at Mary. "Less 'let', way more complicated. Try 'got him, by which I mean me, to make her a new identity, stole a used condom, and went off to have his baby without him'. Which I'm still not convinced was a bad decision. I've seen that man with a baby."  
  
"Better than you and your automatic baby care machine!" Byers shot back, looking entirely offended.  
  
"So, what I'm hearing is  'we're twins from two different sets of parents and this shouldn't be weird at all, around here'." Mary levelled a Langly-grade look of disapproval down the table and Frohike stopped with his mouth open.  
  
"Anyone tell the two of you you look exactly alike?" he joked, weakly. "That's still creepy. Somebody decided _two of him_ was a good idea."  
  
"Because it obviously _was_ ," Langly snapped.  
  
"One of us is scary. Two of us could probably take over the world." Mary smiled brightly and elbowed her cousin in the side of the head. "Hey, do you think Hafidha would go out with me if I asked her to help us take over the world? Is that an appropriate first date?"  
  
"Villette would shit a brick. Villette would shit enough bricks to build an outhouse." Langly leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Okay, we still have some problems. First off, I'm supposed to jerk it into a cup. You'll excuse me if I'm not sure that's going to _work_. What if you give me a container and I ice a sample and FedEx it? Moving on, so we're not actually discussing that at the breakfast table, we still don't have any confirmation of fertility treatments, which means we don't know who was involved or where to start looking. I'm assuming that's something they'd have to have gone to Lincoln or Omaha for. And unlike in this age of infinite information unending, we can't even check the bank records to see who they were paying."  
  
"Yes, we can." Mary grabbed another roll and dipped it in her coffee. "I'm not doing this at work, though, so you're going to have to come up with a scanner with a large-volume document feeder that'll do six hundred DPI. My parents have Pete and Helen's financial records, because of the estate. It's all out in the garage."  
  
Langly closed his eyes and flicked his fingers. The network, here, was still much harder to work with than he was used to in reasonably civilised places, but as long as he did nothing else, he could hold the line open. "I've got Office Depot promising me same day delivery to York. I'll order it on the way to the airport, so you'll be there to sign for it when it comes in."  
  
"I'm taking them with me." Mary pointed at Byers and Frohike. "I need a pair of trained monkeys to make sure everything gets put back exactly where we found it."  
  
Byers sputtered, eyes rounded with offence.  
  
Frohike just snorted. "Good luck finding a monkey as well-trained as Byers."  
  
"If you're taking Byers, let him handle the scanner," Langly suggested, swiping the jam pot and spooning its contents straight into his mouth. "He's got the patience to do it right the first time. I think he's got some kind of blood contract with our scanner. Frohike and I can't get it to take more than ten pages at a time before it double-pulls and jams. Byers can drop a whole ream onto it, and nothing even crinkles."  
  
"What're you, some kind of office wizard?" Mary squinted at Byers, pushing the cream cheese closer to Langly. She'd figured out it was best to make sure he ate as much as possible _before_ things got serious, rather than trying to clean up after it.  
  
"Narc." Frohike tipped his chin at Byers, who had turned the whole of his focus to the roll he was trying to butter.  
  
"Just because I'm the only one in the room with basic office skills!" Byers huffed and straightened his cuffs, turning his eyes to Mary. "I used to work for the FCC, back when these two were still selling illegal cable decoder boxes."  
  
"Pssh." Mary rolled her eyes. "You lived somewhere you could even _get_ cable. I had to move to _Omaha_ to get MTV."  
  
Langly nodded. "She's not kidding. Satellite was a thing, eventually, but _way_ after I left. I bet you still can't get cable out here. When I was growing up, half of Saltville didn't have telephones, because only new builds were getting them, once there was a line in, because nobody wanted to pay to have the wall ripped out, when they could just run down to Whitley's and use the payphone. And really, do you know how many places in Saltville were built after the forties? Like three. And I can point them out. Granddad spent a bundle getting a phone line run here, though. Every time the bill came, he'd yell about it being highway robbery, after what he paid for that line. Of course, he had a heart attack when I was like eight. Probably from all the yelling. That or the god damn chickens."  
  
"They make you go to his funeral?" Mary asked, sitting on the edge of the table.  
  
"Okay, _you_ know what I looked like when I was eight, unlike these dweebs, and I'd like to keep it that way. But, yeah. I was there. Sunday suit and everything." Langly rolled his eyes as he heard Byers open his mouth. "Yes, Byers, I wore an actual suit. In black, even."  
  
"Unlike the plaid monstrosity you've owned since," Frohike teased.  
  
"Hey, that was a junk shop buy at the last possible minute, and it was the only thing that fit." Langly folded his arms and leaned back again.  
  
"Perhaps obviously, I didn't know Granddad, so..." Mary shrugged. "And I really can't imagine you in a plaid suit. Seriously, Dick? What year was this?"  
  
"What, two thousand? Oh-one? Something like that. _Somebody_ decided I had to look professional enough to get into this place because Byers wanted to work the winch controls. Good fucking job, _Byers_ , my ass still hurts thinking about how that went." Having second thoughts about not eating, Langly grabbed the saucer of cream cheese and the spoon from the jam pot and stuffed a heaping spoon of cheese into his mouth. "And you should be glad you didn't know Granddad. You're not missing anything. But, hey, you know what? We're not related to _him_ , either."  
  
"We have to be related to _someone_." Mary looked down the table and realised they'd run out of rolls. "You can't just make people out of spare parts."  
  
Frohike covered his mouth and faked a cough, muttering, "Krycek."  
  
"I'm not sure it matters who our parents are," Langly decided, gesturing with the spoon. "What matters is who made us and whether we're the only ones."


	17. Chapter 17

"Just to make sure we're talking to the correct John Everson," Rossi said, as he pulled out the chair JJ hadn't taken in front of the man's desk and sat, "you are the owner of a grey two thousand four Toyota Camry?"  
  
"Yes, that's me. Have you found my car? Where's my car?" Everson looked between Rossi and Prentiss. "Did someone abandon it in Vegas? That's why the FBI is involved, right? Car theft crossing state lines?"  
  
"Not... exactly." Prentiss slid a paper across the desk. "Is this the license plate number of your car?"  
  
Everson barely looked at it. "I've written that number so many times this weekend. Yes, that's it. Again, where's my car, and why is the FBI involved?"  
  
"While we haven't discovered where the car is now, we have evidence it may have been used in the commission of a murder, last Thursday night, most likely right around the time you reported it missing." Rossi watched the confusion spread across the man's face.  
  
"No, no, that's not--? A murder? That's my _car_!" Everson blinked across the desk in stunned horror. "My car is missing, you don't know where it is, but whoever stole it _hit someone_ with it? Oh, god, my _insurance_! My car! You have to find my car! I can't keep taking an Uber to work! Do you know what that costs!?"  
  
Rossi looked expectantly at JJ, who squeezed her eyes shut. "Mr. Everson, if your car was used in the commission of a murder, it's going to be _evidence_. When we do find it, I can't promise when it will be released to you."  
  
Everson's eyes widened, and he just stared. For a moment, JJ was afraid he might be having a stroke. He folded forward, head in his hands.  
  
"No. No! I haven't even finished paying for that car! You have to find my car!"

* * *

The phone rang, and Chaz tried to ignore it. But he knew that ringtone. That was Falkner, and it was important.  
  
"Didn't you hear I called in dead?" he asked, when he finally answered.  
  
"Not dead enough. Call Brady. You're going to Midland," Falkner told him. "The invitation just came through."  
  
"No." Chaz sat up and peeled off the layers of blankets he was still contentedly buried under. "I'll go to Midland, but give me Lau. It's Christmas. Brady has family, so does Tan. So do you, not that I'm sure you celebrate, but it's the principle. And I might be concerned about leaving Hafidha alone this close to a holiday, too... If I'm not here..."  
  
"After this many years? Do you really think she would?"  
  
"I don't know. If I don't _have to_ know, I'm fine with that. I really hope I never find out." Chaz groaned and poured the last cup of coffee. "She's been fine by herself before, but never on any significant days, because I just don't leave town on anything she'd care about, or she's _out with us_. I don't want to get back and discover she's killed the lemongrass and thrown my last pyrex lasagne pan off the balcony _again_ , because Christmas sucks. Which in our line of work, it _does_. A whole fucking carton of eggs, every year."  
  
"You've both made it this far, and I see no reason to endanger that. I can't send the whole team. There's not enough evidence in Midland to justify it. But, I can give you Nikki and Hafidha -- if Celentano asks, it won't be until after the new year, and probably only if you come back empty-handed."  
  
"Reid and I are _sure_ something's not right, there. I'm not coming back empty-handed. It might not be anomalous, but that many people? It... probably is. It's really statistically unlikely that that many people would commit suicide with relatives at the same hospital in Midland. The rates for other hospitals in the area, even across the US, are nothing like this." Chaz looked at himself and looked around the room, trying to figure out what Hafidha had moved when he said he wasn't getting off the couch, the night before. "I'm eating before I leave the house," he warned, electing not to mention that he needed to shower and change out of the clothes he'd slept in, "so... give me... two hours with the traffic?"  
  
"I'll have them meet you at the airport."

* * *

Reid looked a little better, finally, though his nose was scabbed and his upper lip was chapped along the snot trails. Still, his eyes were somewhat less glassy, and he no longer looked like he'd fall down in a light breeze. Now he looked like he might actually need to be tapped on the shoulder.  
  
JJ put another box of tissues on the table between them. "So, as far as we can tell, this guy's not the killer. Nobody cries like that about their stolen car after faking the theft to cover up the most recent of a series of murders. Everson's really, genuinely distressed about the car."  
  
" _I'd be!_ " Reid blew his nose between sentences. "I've just been fortunate no one's been foolish enough to steal my car."  
  
" _They've_ been fortunate enough not to be foolish enough to steal your car."  Rossi shook his head. "Your car's almost as old as I am, and it's a pain in the ass to drive. It's a pain in the ass to _sit in_."  
  
"Yes." Reid smiled smugly. "I know. But, I fixed the seat. It was on the list of things to do when I got back from Mexico, and we all know how that went."  
  
A knock at the door drew all the attention in the room.  
  
"That must be Prentiss," JJ said, getting up to answer it.  
  
"That better not be Prentiss. One of us non-parenty people in the room with Typhoid Marty is more than enough, and I told her so." Rossi eyed Reid suspiciously and took a step back from the table.  
  
"I am _not that sick_!" Reid insisted as JJ swung the door open.  
  
"Emily, will you please tell--" JJ stopped in the middle of the sentence. "Wow. You are ... not who I was expecting."  
  
"Neither are you," came Langly's voice from the other side of the door. "So, ah... I'm just gonna..."  
  
" _Frank?_ " Reid almost kicked the chair over trying to get out of it, but Rossi caught it and pulled it out of his way, as he stumbled toward the door. "What are you _doing_ here? I'm in the middle of a _case_!"  
  
JJ stepped out of the way, still holding the door and looking much too amused. She raised her eyebrows at Rossi and nodded. "Will doesn't do shit like this."  
  
"Probably because he would be the next victim." Rossi cleared his throat, looking just as entirely entertained by the situation.  
  
"Hey, you're the one who said you had to be awake because the killer only strikes on Thursdays. It's clearly _Monday_ , so I know you're not stuck on surveillance." Langly shoved a bundle of what looked like white roses at Reid. "And besides that, it's Christmas Eve. So, I stopped to get dinner on my way from Nebraska, where _my_ family is way, _way_ more fucked up than yours, and I got us a room for one night at someplace a little less..."  
  
"Economical," Rossi suggested, making finger quotes.  
  
"Fleabag," JJ offered.  
  
Langly nodded and avoided picking one. "That."  
  
"This-- This is completely inappropriate! You can't just... show up in the middle of a case!" Reid sneezed into his hand, having left the tissues on the table, and he stood there, stunned and disgusted, until JJ traded him one for the roses. "Thank you. Also? If you haven't noticed, I'm... not as well as might be necessary for what you have planned."  
  
"My plans are to put food in you and make sure you get a whole night's sleep." Langly grabbed both sides of Reid's face and kissed him on the forehead, conveniently avoiding any snot, while Reid continued to wipe it off. "Because I love you, and it's frigging Christmas."  
  
JJ examined the roses, finally realising they seemed to be plastic. Actually, she couldn't quite figure them out and held them out to Rossi, with an exaggeratedly baffled expression.  
  
"Resin-dipped." Rossi said, after a moment's examination, which finally pulled Langly's attention away from Reid.  
  
"He said he didn't want flowers that would get dead petals all over the furniture."  
  
"You know, if I thought of this, I'd probably still be married," Rossi joked, handing the flowers back to JJ.  
  
"You should go, Spence. We'll be fine without you, overnight. If I absolutely have to ask you something, which I won't, I'll call Villette." JJ cleared her throat. "You should also go, because you're letting all the warm air out of the room arguing about it."  
  
" _Please_ call Villette. He's bored out of his mind, and probably developing the perfect trajectory for lodging pencils in the ceiling in other parts of the building." Reid finally finished wiping his face. "Why do I feel like I've been set up?"  
  
"Because I completely ambushed you?" Langly poked Reid's shoulder, backing him into the room, so he could close the door. "And no, I didn't tell them. I didn't tell anyone. So, here I am, and here you are, and I've got the plane on hold until Wednesday morning, so if you tell me to get the hell out, I'm gone. I know this was stupid, but I figured it might be romantically stupid, and I know you go for romantic. And I absolutely told you I don't know what the hell I'm doing, so if you were expecting better, I'm not sure _why_."  
  
JJ covered her mouth, succeeding in not laughing, but failing not to snort.  
  
"I'm pretty sure I said almost exactly that to my second wife." Rossi caught Langly's eye. "Did I mention I'm divorced?"  
  
"We are going to have a talk about this without the peanut gallery." Reid raised a finger between himself and Langly, his still-glassy eyes blazing, before he turned and started gathering his things. "Coat goes with me, clothes go with me, notes stay here, tablet stays here--"  
  
"Reid--"  
  
He turned and pointed at JJ, tossing the tablet onto the bed as he went through his bag. "Tablet stays here. You need my notes. I don't. The _case_ stays here."  
  
She shook her head. "I was going to remind you to _wear_ your gun. You may be taking the night off, but a lot of people around here know who you are and why you're here."  
  
"I wish I was still inexperienced enough to argue that with you," Reid sighed, and the holster went back on, as he continued to pull himself together. "I put my shoes somewhere sensible."  
  
"This side of the bed." Rossi pointed.  
  
"Are you _absolutely sure_ you don't need me tonight?"  
  
JJ rolled her eyes at him. "Spence. Go. Have fun." She leaned to the side and caught Langly's eye. "If _you_ ever do this again, they will never find all the pieces of your body. He _shouldn't_ have time for this, but this specific case, we can spare him for a little while. You just make sure he _eats and sleeps_."  
  
"Ma'am." Langly backed into the door and swallowed, as Reid pulled on a thick winter coat with 'FBI' emblazoned on the back. Oh, yeah. _Everyone_ was going to know. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward again, just to get the doorknob out of his asscrack. "It's up to him if he eats and sleeps, but I stopped in Las Vegas on my way up, because there's this little restaurant i know he likes, _just to make sure he'd have a reason to eat_. Yes, thank you, I _have_ met Reid. I do know how long he can procrastinate about food."  
  
Reid swung his bag off the bed. "Because _you_ have room to talk?"  
  
"Hey, personal experience. I forget to eat so you don't have to." Langly raised his eyebrows at Reid, a wicked smile obviously trying to curve his lips. "Might have some trouble with sleep, though."  
  
"Peanut. Gallery." With one hand, Reid seamlessly moved Langly out of the way and pulled the door open. He looked back over his shoulder. "I have my phone. I have the charger."  
  
"We'll call Villette," JJ assured him, making shooing motions with her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused about Chaz ditching work? That's because '[And Then Chaz Was Happy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180131)' goes before the last chapter, and I forgot to link it when I posted 15!


	18. Chapter 18

"This is absurd. You shouldn't have done this." Reid said, as they drove across town, the first words he'd said since he shut the motel door behind him.  
  
"Yeah, I kind of got that impression, but it's too late now." Langly shrugged.  
  
Reid stared out the window, watching the light reflect off the snow. "You really stopped in Las Vegas?"  
  
"Hey, you said that place was good! I just wanted to make sure I could get food you wanted to eat and find you before you went to bed, tonight. I feel like this would have gone a lot less well if I woke you up."  
  
"That's putting it mildly. Just so we're clear, I'm upset with you. Flattered, but upset. This is not why I let you have my GPS data."  
  
"That's not how I found you." Langly cleared his throat and pulled into the parking for a significantly more upscale hotel. "I called Penny and asked."  
  
"You said you didn't tell anyone what you were doing!" Reid twisted around in his seat to give Langly the full force of his disapproval.  
  
"I didn't. I said I was overnighting you a nice Christmas present. I didn't tell her it was _me_." Langly turned off the car, looking like the cat that remembered to pluck the canary before eating it.  
  
"This is not at all a reasonable thing to do," Reid argued, getting out of the car and pulling his bag after him.  
  
"Uh, hello, we've met? I told you. I don't know how to do this relationship thing, but I saw this in a movie one time, and it looked plausible and traditionally romantic. Except, you know, nobody in the movie was an FBI agent in the middle of a case, so maybe I didn't think that all the way through, and I'm probably not going to do it again, but this is hardly the worst decision I've ever made. I'm not stuck in a vent, nobody's shooting at me, I'm not underground with a whole lot of explosives. I've pissed you off, and that's not really what I was trying to do, but I'm pretty sure you're not _that_ pissed or you'd have thrown me out instead of coming with me." Langly followed Reid, his luggage already in the room. "Either way, stupid idea, don't do it again. Got that part loud and clear."  
  
"And _that's_ why I came with you." Reid produced a tissue from one of his coat pockets and blew his nose as they headed into the hotel.  
  
The place was nice, but not embarrassingly nice, like the hotel Langly had put his cousin up in, back in D.C. A little more to it than a nice business hotel, which was really saying something, and Reid tried very hard not to think about the going rate for rooms. Halfway to the elevator he realised two things: they hadn't stopped to check in and he was wearing a coat that clearly identified him as a federal agent. The second point probably made the first a good idea. He couldn't imagine the looks. Or, really, he _could_ , and that was the problem.  
  
"You know, you're probably going to get disgustingly sick if you sleep in the same bed with me," he pointed out as the elevator doors slid shut.  
  
"Villette says as long as I eat, I probably won't. It's, ah... one of those things, I guess. But, he was real clear about the eating part. And he might have said something about sleeping, but it's just one night." Langly shrugged, keeping his head tipped down as if to avoid the camera he'd already kicked into a loop.  
  
"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I'm also sure there are a lot of hours between now and tomorrow." Reid kept his hands in his pockets, except to blow his nose. "But I absolutely have to take a shower. Have to. That's not optional."  
  
"I know. You know I'm taking it with you, right? And that I already disinfected the entire bathroom and changed the sheets, before I came to get you?" Langly stepped backward out of the elevator, winking at Reid before he headed down the hall.  
  
"You what?" Reid followed, tissue pressed to his nose as he tried to avoid a sneeze.  
  
"I know you and hotels. I'm not stupid." Langly swiped his thumb across the mouth of one of the card locks and the door clicked open. He held it for Reid and then closed it behind them. "I need to microwave dinner. It's been a couple of hours and it's probably cold."  
  
"Not yet," Reid decided, taking in the surprisingly modest suite. No honeymoon special, this time, and he found himself grateful for that, on some level. "Shower first. Hot water and maybe I'll be able to breathe for more than two minutes without blowing my nose. I've been counting."  
  
"That's gross, but just this once, I will let it pass if you get snot in my hair," Langly graciously offered, still trying to figure out exactly how much trouble he was actually in.  
  
Reid took care of that answer almost immediately, as he set his bag beside the bed, and began removing clothing as he walked across to the wardrobe to hang what he'd been wearing. "I want you to know _first_ that I do appreciate the attempt at a romantic evening. I really do. And I understand why it sounded like a good idea. Our collective concept of romance has very little foundation in the reality of a relationship, and to a fairly large extent, we're both heavily dependent on media and observation of other people's relationships. But, our media choices don't really overlap in some critical places, and even where they do, they largely depict heterosexual relationships based in pursuit and imbalance, often with subtle or not-so-subtle misogyny built into them. So, I know you're going to make bad choices. I'm going to make bad choices too, eventually. I don't think we could figure out every possible terrible idea one of us is likely to try to implement, if we sat down and wrote them all out. But, I'm almost ready to try that, as foolish as it sounds. Just a list of common romance tropes in popular media and our thoughts on the essential aspects of them."  
  
"And then you know which parts _not_ to pick." Langly nodded, contemplatively, peeling off both his t-shirt and the thermal under it in one motion and tossing them on the floor next to the bed. "I like it. I think you're right, but I also think it should wait until we get home, for any number of reasons, including the part where we only have a few hours, right now, and I'd rather spend them making you as comfortable as I can."  
  
"I think we can go for more than just _comfortable_ , even if that is the first thing I'd like to achieve."  
  
"You should let me send out your laundry while we're in the shower," Langly decided, with a nod toward the bathroom. "Towels are clean -- towels are actually mine -- but the cleanliness of hotel laundry aside, your clothes will still be cleaner after that than they are right now, and you know it. You've been breathing on everything in your bag, all week."  
  
Reid nodded, making his way toward the bathroom, socks and underwear still on. "I know you're right, so thank you, again. I learn almost as much watching you interpret me as I do trying to understand you independently of myself."  
  
"Oh, you want to figure me out? I've got a story for you. Lemme take care of the laundry and I'll be right in."  
  
"I suddenly feel like I should be concerned."  
  
"You should be at least as concerned as I am. Whiskey-Tango-Fuck-Your-Mother thinks I'm an alien clone."  
  
Reid spun around into the bathroom and sneezed into the sink. "Ah, yeah. I'm going to need context for that."

* * *

Chaz got out of the cab and counted the people standing by the plane, all of them backlit. Too many. Hafs he could pick out by the shape of her hair. Lau he'd know at seventy feet in a snowstorm. He hoped the third figure was the pilot.  
  
Lau spotted him. "Hey, Villette, guess who invited himself along, just in case you were too dead to join us?"  
  
Chaz stopped, realisation spreading across his face. "Are you _kidding me_?"  
  
"Hey, after that fantastic Florida vacation we took, can you blame me?" Duke stepped out of the stairs, resolving as he came into the light. "It's a shame we're not bringing Legs; he was great cover."  
  
Chaz turned a colour human beings were not meant to turn. "I'm pretty sure he's not going undercover in a dress again, no matter what we say to him. I don't think _Spencer_ could talk him into it."  
  
"Even the lure of being the wife of the legendary Solomon Todd's not enough?" Hafidha teased, heading up the stairs.  
  
"He'd be missing out on most of the benefits," Duke assured them, following her up. "Now, Chaz on the other hand? Probably offering much better benefits. I thought I was going to have to get a crank to roll up his tongue."  
  
"Was this Fitzgerald? I miss all the fun cases." Lau nudged Chaz to get him moving.  
  
"I was _surprised_ , okay? Shocked. _Stunned_."  
  
"Flapping your mouth like a fish out of water." Duke smiled and nodded.  
  
Chaz snorted. "Lie to me, Sol. Tell me _you_ were expecting that."  
  
"Nobody can lie to you." Duke grinned over his shoulder. "You _know_ I was expecting that."

* * *

"So, Frohike thinks I'm the first, and there's more of us between my age and hers. I think he's out of his mind. I know what he's thinking of, but she wasn't even taken until seventy-eight, and the clones were, well, _clones_. It was creepy shit, but it's not _our_ creepy shit." Langly tipped his head back to rinse out his hair one last time. "I'm pretty sure he's wrong. I might be capital-letter Anomalous, but Villette says we're still _human_."  
  
Reid wished his nose would stop bleeding, where he'd washed off the scabs. "For the sake of argument, what if he's right? What does that actually change, if anything?"  
  
"It could mean everything I remember before nineteen eighty-nine is a lie." Langly switched places with Reid, stepping out of the surprisingly high-pressure hot water. "Worst case. Best case, Mary's a clone and I'm a test-tube baby, and her memories may or may not be real. But, her parents are still alive and we have access to them, and neither of us are related to them, but her dad's definitely related to my dad, so _that much_ is real. And there's pictures of my Aunt Ruthie pregnant, so even if she is a clone, she's probably a live birth, unlike the infinite number of Mulder sisters. But, I mean, I _remember that_. An infinite number of Langly siblings was not on my list of things to discover at any point, maybe least of all right now, when I'm finally getting used to there being _one_ of me, again."  
  
Reid stood with his face tipped up under the spray, for a few moments, eyes closed. "Yes, I can definitely see where half your life being fake would be upsetting. I'd be upset. I'd be... devastated, really. Relieved, but devastated. I'd probably spend the rest of my life questioning my own motivations constantly."  
  
"You question your own motivations pretty constantly anyway," Langly said, resting his chin on Reid's shoulder.  
  
"Differently. I'd be questioning my motivations as if they were Chaz's. They're compelling, but are they mine?" Reid turned his head and kissed Langly's cheek.  
  
"I could show you a few things that are compelling and yours," Langly joked, hands settling on Reid's hips. "You want to wait a little longer on dinner?"  
  
"Maybe, but not in here. One, we both know this is a recipe for disaster, and two, the hot water isn't going to last forever." Still, Reid leaned back, resting his head on Langly's shoulder, letting Langly's hands slide forward over his skin as he moved. "You sure you want to do this? I'm not at my best. I am almost definitely going to get snot in your hair. Only your hair, if we're both very lucky. It's another reason to save some hot water for later."  
  
"We will take a many showers as you want, plus one for my hair, just in case." Langly wrapped his arms around Reid and sighed, almost contented. "If you're too sick, we can just take a nap. I might have had Muringa send me the same box from your birthday, because I knew the sheets would fit and that blanket's probably warm enough for Villette, and it's got the fluffy bathrobes in it. And you'd kill me if I spent more money than I had to. See? I do remember."  
  
"You're impossible." Reid rested one hand atop Langly's.  
  
"I am not. I'm extremely improbable, and getting less so. There's two of me, now."  
  
"I like this one better."  
  
"The classic model."  
  
"The original."  
  
Langly groaned. "I better be."  
  
Reid twisted out of Langly's grip and turned off the shower. "There is _one_ reason we should eat first. If we go to bed like this, the bed's going to be sopping wet all night."  
  
"I'm pretty sure that's going to happen anyway."  
  
"I'm pretty sure you're not going to hit the _pillows_."


	19. Chapter 19

"Surprisingly good, even hours later and microwaved," Red decided, scraping the last of the sauce off the plate with his spoon. "We should do this more often. Dinner and not a case. Just not in the middle of a case, because I really should be--"  
  
"Mafia Fed Dad and Agent Scares the Shit Out Of Me said you have the night off. Take it." Langly got up and gestured for Reid to stay put. "Sit. I've got one more thing, before we go to bed."  
  
Reid turned to look after Langly over the back of his chair. "If you got dessert, you should save it for breakfast. I'm not a gamma. There's only so much that will fit in my stomach at once."  
  
"Not a food. The Christmas present you _said_ I could get you." Langly came back across the room holding a large envelope, and handed it to Reid. "I hope it's the right colour, but if it's not, I can probably get that fixed before you get home."  
  
"What--?" Reid opened the envelope, confused, and shook the contents out onto the table. Photographs. Photographs that looked like his apartment, but the wrong way around and the wrong colour. He spread them out in what seemed to be the right order along the table and took another look. The room went from a dull amethyst, by the door, to an almost ultramarine around the windows, which... He took a closer look, then pulled the last two photos closer. A bed. The end of the room was fitted with an enormous platform bed that sat just under the windows, the stain of the wood almost matching the floor. The huge blanket draped across it matched the deep blue of the walls and light filtered through the gauzy blue curtains that hung on the windows.  
  
"The bed. You put in the bed, next door." He stared at the photos, entirely at a loss for words.  
  
"And I'm looking forward to getting you home and trying it out." Langly suddenly looked concerned, noticing the blank look on Reid's face. "Did I screw it up? I screwed it up."  
  
"No! I'm... this is just... I know I sketched it out and left some really vague comments in the margins, but I didn't think that would be enough to work with...This is..." Reid studied Langly, his face cautiously blank. He held out his hand to Langly, and felt an inquiring nudge from Chaz that he waved away. He'd share it soon enough. He didn't want to miss the look on Chaz's face when he actually saw it, for the first time. "It's incredible. I didn't imagine you could actually do it like that. What about the radiator?"  
  
"Pulled up some of the floor. The heat makes a loop under the bed, now. There will be no cold feet, and blanket-stealing should be minimal." Langly took Reid's hand and pulled him up out of the chair and into his arms. "And you can't really make it out, but I used the built-in shelves for electronics -- stereo, television, computer, coffee maker. Should be possible to sit in bed and watch shitty movies. You don't have to get up to drink coffee. I had it done so we could both enjoy it, together. And I don't think Villette's going to complain, either. It's not like he can fall on the floor."  
  
"I can't believe you really did it." Reid slipped his arms around Langly, as one more question occurred to him. "Where's the door?"  
  
"Not there yet. I didn't want to do anything to your place if you weren't going to be there to take care of your stuff. Or at least I should be there, but I was in Nebraska at the time, so... It's not connected yet. And the bathroom and kitchen aren't finished, but I thought the bed was more important than the hot tub. And yes, we're getting a hot tub, because I'm completely spoiled and I can make it fit."  
  
"This is why I came with you," Reid murmured against Langly's ear. "Because I know you don't just _mean_ well. You learn. You adapt. You _remember_."  
  
"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I do. That's why I'm alive and not spending the rest of my life in prison." Langly draped his arms over Reid's shoulders and stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Of course, if it gets me a hot boyfriend, too, that's just a bonus."  
  
"Langly, almost seventy percent of men married more than a decade can't remember their wife's favourite flowers or to leave the toilet seat down. I know what people are like. It's my _job_ to know what people are like."  
  
"And I'm not like people."  
  
"It's a good thing, at least in this case. In a lot of cases, actually. Have I mentioned recently that I don't _like_ people?" Reid nuzzled Langly's ear, pressing him back toward the bed. "I _do_ like you. Quite a bit."  
  
"I am the luckiest man alive," Langly decided, not for the first time, letting Reid back him across the room.  
  
"I'm pretty sure you are, and it has nothing to do with me." Reid ducked his head to nip just under Langly's jaw, as they met the edge of the bed. "Like you said, you're still alive and not in prison."  
  
"That's skill, which we've established I don't have, here." Langly leaned back and caught himself, sitting, knees spread around Reid's legs. "This is just the universe smiling down on me for some utterly unknown reason, and I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop."  
  
"On the contrary, you just said all the reasons I named were skills, therefore..." Reid rolled his eyes and pulled a tissue out of the pocket of his bathrobe, pausing to blow his nose and then take a few deep breaths. "I'd have to say you're an incredibly skilled lover."  
  
"Pretty sure that's not how most people use that phrase."  
  
"Pretty sure I just said I didn't like people." Reid paused, tissue still in hand. "I'm going to go get three things, and then I'm all yours. But, your Christmas present is still sitting in my desk drawer."  
  
"You're gorgeous and about to be naked. I'm pretty sure I couldn't have asked for anything better," Langly called after him as Reid ducked into the bathroom. "Except maybe for you to not be sick! But, that's more for you!"  
  
Reid tossed the box of tissues at Langly, as he returned to the bed, carrying the bathroom bin and a towel. "I fully intend this to be one of the better Christmases either of us has had, so I'm working to make this _less_ disgusting."  
  
"I keep saying 'I love you', but I don't think it really puts the point across half as well as 'I don't care if you drip snot on me, as long as you come to bed'." Langly stretched and tossed his glasses onto the nightstand, setting the tissues next to himself. "You should come down here, so I can see you."  
  
"Should I?" Reid set the bin next to the bed and tossed the towel up next to Langly, before he let the bathrobe fall to the floor behind him. "You should turn off the lights. I know you can reach."  
  
"Exploiting my powers for personal gain," Langly teased, resting his fingers on the bedside lamp, his eyes sliding closed as he followed the circuit. He could feel the bed dip to either side of him, and when he finally looked up, leaving only the bedside lamp on, Reid was kneeling across his hips.  
  
"Please, if someone wanted to hit me with that, I think _dating my landlord_ would top the list." Reid blew his nose one more time, just to be sure, before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Langly's.  
  
"'M not your landlord," Langly muttered into the kiss, and then he let himself be distracted by it. He hadn't forgotten how much he enjoyed being kissed -- he wasn't sure he could ever forget that -- but the finer details had slipped away, over the preceding week, and he was glad for the reminder. " _Byers_ is your landlord," he breathed, as Reid pulled back.  
  
"You're still in charge of renovating. I get all the repairs and replacements first," Reid murmured, nipping the edge of Langly's jaw and kissing down his neck. "Have you even gotten to anyone else with the new windows?"  
  
"Just because you never look up when you park..." Langly panted, winding his leg around Reid's. "Anyone who wants the windows has the windows." He paused, staring at the ceiling. "You're naked. Why the hell are we talking about the windows?"  
  
"Maybe," Reid whispered in his ear, "because I still want you to fuck me against those windows."  
  
Langly shivered, every muscle in his body tensing in a ripple that seemed to start at his toes. "Oh my god, I'd tell you to say it again, but if you want me to anything involving putting my dick in you in the next hour, _don't_."  
  
"So, I should wait until you do, and then say it?" Reid teased, nuzzling at Langly's neck.  
  
"Twelve seconds. Maybe. If you're lucky."  
  
"Minute and a half, if I'm not?" Reid sat up, eyes sparkling with amusement, and then leaned over the side of the bed Langly's bag was on. "Please tell me you remembered to pack lube. I have heard too many horror stories to even consider using hotel lotion."  
  
"It's not _that_ bad." Langly shrugged and propped himself up on one elbow. "But, no, I didn't. Left side, where the bottles obviously go, the bag that still has something in it."  
  
Reid sat back up, holding a black bottle, and gestured at Langly with it. "I don't want to have to explain why I think this is thoughtful, but trust me when I tell you it is. Horror. Stories."  
  
He backed up enough to give Langly room to open the bathrobe, and then leaned down again and tossed back a shirt. "I'd like this to remain an enjoyable experience for both of us."  
  
Langly shrugged out of the robe, leaving it under himself, and pulled the shirt on, flipping his hair out of the collar, before he laid down again. "And I'm the thoughtful one?"  
  
Reid rolled his eyes and flicked open the cap on the lube. "I just said you were. I didn't say I _wasn't_. Of course, I'm also not _Chaz_ , or I'd have known to bring your present _with me_."  
  
"No, you wouldn't. I didn't know I was going to do this until it was _way_ too late for that." Langly stopped talking, mouth still open for another sentence, as Reid's slick hand caressed his flesh. He reached down and grabbed Reid's wrist. "Stop."  
  
Reid let go instantly. "You all right?"  
  
"That is a lot less than twelve seconds." Langly took a few long, shaky breaths. "Missed you."  
  
"I've left town for cases, before. It doesn't usually have this effect on you."  
  
"I missed you a lot, and it has less to do with you being out of town and more to do with me being in Nebraska." Langly ran his hands up Reid's thighs. "You're too far back. Come down here to I can worship you like the sex god you are."  
  
"Okay, but I have to be on top, because if I'm on my back, I'm going to choke on my own snot, and that's not going to be sexy at all."  
  
"That would be the opposite of sexy. Let's not," Langly agreed, gazing worshipfully up as Reid leaned down over him again. He reached up to tuck Reid's hair back on one side. "You're hot. You know that, right? Every time I look at you, I think I'm ready for it, but then I actually see you, and you're amazing, and I just keep waiting to wake up. On the other hand, if this were a dream, I don't think I'd have spent the last week finding out I'm not related to the woman who gave birth to me." He blinked and tipped his head. "Best proof this isn't a dream: I didn't spend last week naked in bed with you."  
  
"You remember the last time we tried that. There were complaints." Reid shifted to the side, dropping himself next to Langly and propping his head on his clean hand. He wiped his other hand on Langly's hip and then reached for the lube, pressing the bottle into Langly's hand. "Good thing you got the bed put in, because next time, we're spending it in _my_ bed, not yours."  
  
"Hey, I had that room soundproofed, after that!" Langly huffed, single-handedly pouring lube into the hand he held the bottle in, without spilling it all over the bed. He closed the bottle and dropped it, rubbing his fingers across his palm. "But, I definitely want to try out the new bed. Just the two of us, first, and then we can see how Villette fits."  
  
"Villette will fit anywhere that puts his back to a wall." Reid draped his leg across Langly's. "He's not having nearly the Christmas we are."  
  
"You could fix that."  
  
"I probably shouldn't. Last time we were in a hotel, that was... perhaps not the ideal time to share."  
  
Langly's mouth curled in a sly smile. "Where'd you leave your phone?"  
  
"I wouldn't have to call him..."  
  
"You're not going to call him. I'm just going to borrow the camera and _I'm_ going to text him." The smile broke into a grin. "I listen. I know the two of you share more than you mean to. So, why don't I just text him a picture of the two of us obviously in bed, and let him ask you if he wants more."  
  
"I'm not sure if that's brilliant or evil." Reid wiped his hand again and rolled onto his back to grab the phone from where he'd left it charging on the nightstand. "I'm going to be really upset with us, if he takes this badly. You know he's still broken up about your cousin."  
  
"Well, _I'm_ not mad at him. That's her problem." Langly took the phone with the hand that wasn't greasy and bent his arm, pulling Reid closer as he tried to aim the camera without actually turning on the screen. Not too hard, but it was the kind of thing that probably looked impressive. "If he's pissed off I didn't stop and get _him_ before I came out here, then I'll just have to go play sexy Santa for him, before I go back to Nebraska. I'd bring you, but I think Agent Mom would kick my ass if I tried."  
  
He paused, looking vaguely disgruntled. "C'mere and kiss me."  
  
Reid eyed the phone held over them with no small amount of suspicion before he did, falling easily into the familiar sensation. "Work faster," he breathed into the kiss. "I want you, whether or not Chaz does."  
  
Langly finally tapped the screen on. "Here, check that before I send it. You're cute from that angle. You're cute from every angle. Why the hell are you that good looking?"  
  
"Genetics and a high-stress lifestyle," Reid joked, squinting at the photo. "Well, that definitely looks like us. I really hope nobody's looking over his shoulder."  
  
Langly tossed the phone blindly in the right direction, relieved when he heard it clatter onto the nightstand and thump against the lamp. "Christmas card sent. Not from your number. His problem now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters of lead in before anyone actually gets laid, because _what the fuck is pacing_?


	20. Chapter 20

Chaz was five minutes from the room he wouldn't be sleeping in, when his phone chirped. The Christmas rush meant they'd gotten scattered into wherever they'd fit, and he'd gotten a single room on the same floor as a potential victim. Of course, because of the nature of the trip, he'd be sharing that room with Hafidha, and he had no doubt he'd be sleeping on the floor, if he slept at all. _Sleeping in front of the door_ , his memory prompted, but that wasn't his memory at all, and it darted out of the way, before he could find the other end of it.  
  
"What does Frank want?" he asked Hafidha. "My phone doesn't make that noise, and you're sitting next to me, so it's not you."  
  
"It's Christmas. It's probably someth--" Hafidha blinked, stunned, and reached for the phone in Chaz's pocket to pull up the actual message. That couldn't be right. That was just Frank fucking with her, because he could. But, no, that was exactly what she thought it was. "Yowza. You're gonna want to see that one yourself. After you stop driving. Definitely park first."  
  
"What?" No answer was forthcoming as Chaz pulled into the snowy parking lot. " _What?_ "  
  
"You're lucky I'm the one who picked up your phone and not Nikki." Hafidha slid out of the car before he'd finished turning it off, dragging her bag with her, Chaz's phone still in her other hand. "Give me five minutes in the bathroom, and it's all yours. Just... bleach it when you're done."  
  
"What... even...?" Chaz's shoulder made a horrendous sound as he planted a hand on the hood of the car and swung himself over it. "Give me my phone. I'm not driving."  
  
"You cold yet?" Hafidha backed toward the hotel entrance, holding the phone teasingly in front of her. "You should wait until you're cold, or you'll spontaneously combust."  
  
"Hafs, dammit, give me my phone!" If there was one thing Chaz was sure of, it was that Spencer was going to kill him. Possibly also Langly, for good measure.

* * *

Langly kept still long enough for Reid to blow his nose and toss the tissue into the bin beside the bed, curling his fingers as Reid's hands settled on his shoulders again. The reaction was immediate and incredible to watch. Reid's back bowed, head tipped back, as his hips dropped against Langly's hand, and Langly watched the golden glow from the bedside lamp play across that sweat damp skin, the shimmer across Reid's shivering shoulders.  
  
"More." Reid wasn't sure his voice had made it out of his throat. " _Now_."  
  
But, Langly moved like he'd been expecting it, sliding his fingers out of the way of his dick. "Take me. I'm yours," he said, hoping he'd last long enough to get it all the way in.

* * *

Chaz closed the bathroom door behind him and found his phone sitting next to the sink. He didn't think Langly would send him a dick pic, but after that picture of Spencer they'd given him for his birthday, he was sure there were any number of things that might have gotten that reaction out of Hafidha -- doubly since she loved rubbing his face in the fact that he was getting laid. Which, he'd come to understand, was just one of those things sisters did -- set you up on dates, half the time, and then needle you about them, after. And she definitely counted Spencer as having been the result of her influence, if not Langly.  
  
It took a moment for the image to load, but that was definitely Spencer and Langly in bed, kissing. They were so in love it came through even in a quick snapshot like this, and it took him a bit to figure out how they'd gotten that angle, since neither of them was looking at the camera, and he was sure there wouldn't be anyone else in the room -- Spencer wouldn't have stood for it. But, the distance was probably just about the length of Langly's arm, if he'd gotten it behind Spencer's neck, so he'd probably cheated it like he had the birthday photo of Spencer. And then the text sunk in.  
  
'Happy Christmas! Wish you were here!'  
  
Then why hadn't Spencer-- Except he knew why. Because he'd let Spencer know he'd finally gotten sent out, and as another agent, he had the sense not to make the suggestion unexpectedly. Chaz flicked off the bathroom light and sat down, back against the wall, before he reached out, knowing what he'd be reaching into the middle of. Maybe he'd thank Hafs for the bathroom, in the morning. Maybe he'd just insist he had no idea what she was talking about, besides that he appreciated at least being able to sleep on the floor behind a closed door.  
  
The hand he laid on the other door, the door between himself and Spencer, was no more real than the door itself, and that door gave way like wet tissue in the way of an atom bomb. Raw sensation curled and coiled through him, blossoming in the wet heat hundreds of miles away. His lips tingled and his thighs tensed as Spencer gave him _everything_.

* * *

Reid shivered and rocked his hips in the wet mess smeared across Langly's belly. "Tell me you brought the ring."  
  
"Hmm?" Langly was still panting, trying to find his brain in the aftermath of what felt like every nerve in his body shorting out with pleasure.  
  
"Tell me you brought the ring," Reid repeated, trying to keep Langly inside him. "I want more. I still want you like this, inside me. Your pulse, your semen, every beat of your heart against my insides -- I want it. I want you."  
  
"Ah... yeah. Yes. I did." Langly squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands against them, trying to remember how to put words in the right order. "Pressed against the back of the phone pocket. Might take a minute to... ah..."  
  
"I know." A sharp breath fell from Reid's lips as he leaned to the side and Langly slipped out. He could feel the loss echoed in Chaz's mind, and Chaz was quick to correct it, fingers pressing into them, just enough of a tease to keep things interesting, while Reid's fingers found what he was looking for in Langly's bag.  
  
Reid could feel himself start to shake, shivers he wished weren't so familiar, and he buried that thought before Chaz could find it. A few deep breaths stopped the trembling in his hands, and he held the black ring out to Langly, teetering on the edge of the revulsion that plunged down on the other side of lust. He closed his eyes and let himself focus on Chaz's fingers, on the thought of Chaz's body pressed against him, thin and cold and just as familiar to him as his own.  
  
"Touch me," he panted, unwilling to hear the pleading in his voice, unwilling to admit the ache in his chest, in his hands, in his gut. Unwilling to surrender to the fear of falling. And then Langly's hands were on his thighs, slow and gentle, half-slick and filthy.  
  
"Reid?" Langly's voice was cautious. "You okay?"  
  
"No, but I want to be." Reid could feel his hands start to shake again as he buried another memory, aware of Chaz's sudden concern. "Touch me. I need-- I want you inside me. I'll be fine. It's a now-or-never. It's fine. I'm fine."  
  
And that was something Langly could understand. They'd been here, before, and the best way out was to do whatever Reid asked -- which was never anything he wouldn't have done anyway, just maybe in a different order than he'd meant. He pushed his still-slick fingers back into Reid, feeling the wetness he'd left behind drip down into his palm as he stroked just where he knew Reid wanted, hard and slow. There -- Reid's body started to relax, started to move with him, push back against him, demanding more. Maybe not how he'd planned the night, but there was always later. There was always the morning. There was always back home, in his bed, where everything smelled like it was supposed to, and neither of them would be under the strain of shovelling someone else's secrets.  
  
Reid let the pleasure take him, let it blot out every barely-hidden edge threatening to rise up from the depths where they belonged. Except the one Chaz was still holding the corner of. He reflexively batted the thought aside, again, and offered the sensation of Langly's amazing fingers, instead. He felt warm. Loved, adored, desired. Broken and strange, but still wanted, not for what he could be, but for what he was.  
  
And he felt Chaz recoil from that as if he'd been burned.  
  
"No, damn it," Reid muttered, and Langly's fingers stopped moving. "Not you. You know what I want."  
  
As the pressure of Langly's fingers returned inside of him, Reid reached out again, offering the other side of the thought that had driven Chaz back, the same unconditional acceptance that he'd offered Chaz almost since the beginning. He'd never expected Chaz to be other than he was, no matter how objectively terrifying and bizarre that might be. _Reid_ was not afraid. And yes, they both had secrets, and they probably always would. That was how these things worked, and they both knew it. There were always the questions you didn't ask, because the answers benefited no one. And Reid could feel Chaz swallow one of those questions, even as he buried the answer deeper.  
  
And that wasn't the _point_! The point was that Chaz was nearly always welcome far deeper inside him than anyone had ever been. The point was that Chaz had become part of him, and _broken and strange_ though he was, though they both were, Reid still welcomed and desired the touch of his mind just as much as, if not more than, the touch of his hands. And not _despite_ the raw edges. If anything, because of them, because of the way they mirrored his own in so many places that neither of them would discuss. There were some things it was enough to recognise. There was no need to _know_. And part of his comfort was that they both respected that. Usually. Chaz had only needed to make the mistake _once_.  
  
And even after that, Reid had welcomed him, kissed him, warmed him, _known him_.  
  
He felt Chaz's unoccupied fingers caress his own lips, their lips, and without opening his eyes, he leaned down and kissed Langly with every bit of passion he had for both of them -- and, oh, everything came rushing back. Chaz's fingers mirrored Langly's in their motion, and Reid writhed between his lovers, with no thought to the miles that separated them.  
  
"Make love to me," he breathed into Langly's mouth.  
  
And _that_ was a new one. Langly almost stalled, before he came back with, "Blow your nose, first. You're whistling again."  
  
Reid pushed himself up and grabbed a tissue. "This is why I love you, in case you were wondering."  
  
"And here I thought it was the fact that one's never enough," Langly teased, lining himself up as Reid emptied his sinuses yet again.  
  
"I mean, I'm definitely not going to fault that, but reminding me to take care of myself so we'll _both_ have a better time? Much further up the list." Reid sank down slowly, eyes closed, letting Langly fill him.  
  
Relief coursed through him, and then desire, and then the nagging corner of a memory caught like a hangnail, contaminating everything he wanted, as the fear and shame behind it leaked into his mind. His hands had shaken like this, before. The taste of desire spoiled in his mouth, at the recollection. Was all this really so little? Had he mistaken the echoes of an old weakness for love?  
  
He tried to push that thought aside, to tell himself this was different, and it didn't matter in the same way, even if it was a mistake. And he didn't want it to be. And no one had come to any harm because of his decisions -- no, not even then. Helmsman hadn't taken Langly because of him. Helmsman had _recognised Langly_. None of it was his fault.  
  
But, that wasn't true, was it? Helmsman would never have known Langly, if Langly were still playing dead.  
  
"Hey, Agent Sexy? Not looking so good." Langly's hands slid over Reid's thighs. "You okay?"  
  
And from another angle, Reid could feel Chaz's concerned warmth distantly wrapped around him -- Chaz. Chaz would've seen all of that. But, Reid realised he hadn't, after a moment. That the distance was because he'd pushed Chaz away, when the memory broke. That Chaz's concern wasn't because of what he'd seen but because of what he _hadn't_. And Reid meant to keep it that way. Just another secret no one would be better for knowing.  
  
"I want to be," he breathed, realising the tremors had reached his shoulders from where his hands rested on Langly's shoulders. His chest vibrated out of time with his breaths, echoing the ringing in the bones of his arms.  
  
"What do you need?"  
  
He heard it from both of them, not just Langly.  
  
"Sorry. It's the stress." Reid shook his head, eyes still closed. He couldn't lie to Langly with his eyes open. He wasn't sure he could lie to Chaz at all, but he'd find that out later. "You might've noticed, I've been pretty sick."  
  
But, they both seemed ready to take that answer. It was simple. It was _believable_.  
  
"Do you want to sleep?" Langly looked at his hands, deciding which one seemed cleaner, before he raised it to tuck Reid's hair back.  
  
Yes. He did want to sleep. He wanted to bury himself in unconsciousness and denial. He wanted to deprive himself of everything but the most basic necessities until he could get himself together. He wanted to be alone with his fear until he could prove it wrong and shove it back in the box.  
  
"I want _you_ ," Reid admitted, and the words tasted like ashes, like failure, like something he should have resisted harder.  
  
Which was when Chaz slapped him in the back of the head hard enough to feel real, and one of Reid's hands leapt up to the ghost of impact. The argument that blotted out most of Reid's senses seemed to be that love was not a weakness, and he was allowed to have nice things. A hundred lectures Chaz must have gotten from Hafidha over the years detonated across Reid's mind in a matter of seconds, and he felt himself agreeing with the undercurrents of how Chaz had felt about them, at the time -- it really _wasn't_ any of her business. Except it had been, Chaz assured him, with visual reminders that he lived with her and his decisions affected her. But, that wasn't the point he was trying to make, no matter how many times Reid tried to get him to drop the subject. The point was that Reid was absolutely in love -- there was no other way to say it that they'd both understand in the same way. This wasn't whatever Reid had suddenly confused it with, and Chaz had some thoughts on what that might be, but he wasn't going to bring them up _now_ \-- it was unmistakeable. It was love, not a fling, not an obsession, not one of those painfully awkward worshippy things that Chaz had tended toward for a few years. And very definitely not what he suspected Reid had suddenly confused it with.  
  
They were going to talk about this, the next time they were in the same place for longer than it took to have dinner and a nap. There were a few things they were going to have to talk about. But, right that moment, Langly was hot and hard inside them, and ... gazing up at Reid with unmistakeable concern.  
  
"You sure you're okay?" Langly asked. "I think you blacked out for a minute."  
  
"No, that was just _Chaz_ making sure I'm okay." Reid finally opened his eyes to roll them. "I have a headache. It's not a migraine. You should help me get rid of it."  
  
"Yeah?" A cautious smile curled the corners of Langly's mouth. "Tell me."  
  
"Do you want me?" The words weren't what either of them expected.  
  
"No, I'm just lying here naked in bed with you, with my dick up your ass, for a laugh." Langly rolled his eyes. "Do I-- What the hell kind of question is that?"  
  
Reid's eyes closed, again, an awkward smile tugging at his lips. "The kind of question someone asks when they're dripping snot on everything and not feeling particularly desirable. I'm not very good at being ill, and I'm not very good at ... physical relationships."  
  
"So, you're sick and it's making you weird. I can live with that." Langly tried to shrug, but Reid's weight was on his shoulders. "You're also hot, naked, and willing to put up with me. And hot. Did I mention the part where you're hot? Yes, even now. Yes, even dripping snot on me." He blinked, focusing on the hot, wet spot rolling down his collarbone. "That's not snot, is it. I don't have my glasses on. Are you _crying_?"  
  
Reid reached for another tissue and blew his nose. "No," he lied, tossing the tissue into the bin and leaning down to Langly's ear. "Where were we, before I got a headache?"  
  
"You were going to tell me how you want me." Langly gently cupped Reid's ass, tracing the curves with his thumbs.  
  
"Touch me. Take me. I don't want to be able to think for a few hours. I don't want to remember that I'm sick, that I'm supposed to be working, that I'm having what should be a career-ending affair with the first person I've found sexually attractive in more years than I really want to think about." Reid rolled his hips and Langly shivered, under him.  
  
"You mean Villette?" Langly teased, fingers tracing Reid's spine.  
  
Reid groaned. "No, I do not mean Villette, but yes, thanks, that's _actually_ going to end my career if anyone finds out. You and I... it's only dangerous if the wrong people find a way to prove who you are."  
  
"Which they can't, because I'm not who I am." Langly blinked at the ceiling. "There was probably a better way to say that, but all the standard methods are going to fail. The only person I'm related to, living or dead, is my sister, and I don't _have_ a sister. I am not going to end your career. I'm not who any of us thought I was."  
  
"Yes, you are. You're the man I'm in love with." And Reid felt like an idiot for doubting that, but something he refused to think about still nagged at the back of his mind. "And I'm open to spending the rest of my life with you, however that actually works out."  
  
He could feel Chaz slipping away. _Yes, and_ you _._    
  
Chaz tripped on his own confusion, but stayed, letting Reid overwhelm his senses, as the bodies that weren't his moved against each other. Caution, apology, and desire, and he fed into that last, with reassurances that Reid wasn't making a mistake. He'd made enough of his own to know what that looked like, and this wasn't it. Of course, it could be a whole other kind of mistake, they both realised, but at least it wouldn't be the same one again.  
  
His hands travelled his own body as if his skin were Reid's, and a few moments of his own pleasure provided a convenient bucket for Reid to drown his lingering guilt in. The circumstances were an obvious lead-in to disaster -- it was Christmas, Reid was sick, all _three_ of them were in the middle of cases -- and it was a testament either to some inner strength or how long they'd been working this job that things had come together even this well. Between constant reassurance and slow hands, Chaz finally got Reid to relax enough to enjoy the things he'd been asking for.  
  
And Langly was not expecting it, when Reid's almost soundless gasps gave way to panting and pleading, when the body atop him tensed in different ways, no longer clinging to him for comfort, but rutting against him demandingly. He ran his fingers down Reid's spine again, feeling for the spots he wanted. If he pressed right there--  
  
Reid arched, elbows locking so fast they popped, the warm air of the room still cooler than the sweat on his chest. And as soon as all of these things registered, they were already gone. He felt _good_ , with no consideration to whether he deserved it. He felt perfect -- full and warm and wanted in ways he wanted to be wanted. He felt loved. He felt... like he'd been hit by a bus, if he were entirely honest with himself, and he eased himself back down, panting, to curl up against Langly's chest.  
  
"Hey, Agent Sexy? First non-mechanical love of my life?" Langly nudged Reid, gently, and got a half-asleep sound of dismay, in return. "I love you, but you have to move, because if I don't get the ring off, I think my dick's going to fall off, and that's not going to be fun for anybody."  
  
With another small sound of irritation, Reid grabbed a tissue, blowing his nose one more time before he lifted his hips, the sudden emptiness somehow even more of a shock than usual. He stayed perfectly still for just long enough to convince himself his internal organs weren't going to fall out, before he kicked the blankets down to one side of them, and slid under them, letting the fluffy warmth drag him down.  
  
"Love you," he murmured, tucking his chin against Langly's shoulder. "Make it up to you in the morning."  
  
Chaz raised somebody's eyebrow at the idea that Reid would be up before noon, in this condition. It might even have been his own, but he wasn't sure he could tell the difference between the two of them, in the moment. But, he had no intention of pulling away, until Reid was asleep. Then he'd take a shower and pass out on the floor, somewhere relatively out of the way. ( _Sleep in front of the door_ , some part of Reid's barely-conscious mind insisted, and then slid away, again.) For all that he usually envied Reid, to some degree, right that second, warm, soft bed with hot boyfriend absolutely topped the list of enviable things. He'd give the subtly delusional panic attack a hard pass, though. He had enough of those without the help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NINE DAYS OF HELL. But, here, have a chapter! I hope it makes as much sense as I think it does, because man, I'm _sicker than Reid_.


	21. Chapter 21

  
Reid sat up, suddenly, reaching over Langly for his phone, even before he finished waking up. JJ had been right. He'd needed the night off, because the next step had just occurred to him. The next victim was exactly the one they'd been waiting for.  
  
Langly blinked himself awake as the bed buckled on the wrong side of him, finding himself staring up at Reid, who knelt across him, naked and radiant, pointing at him with the phone in his hand. Langly knew that look -- great genius, terrible idea -- he'd worn it often enough, himself, not that he looked half as good in it.  
  
"Gonna share that idea with the rest of the class?" he asked, untangling his wrist from around Reid's knee and rubbing the crud out of his eyes.  
  
"Can you take a couple more days away from York?" Reid asked, and Langly knew this wasn't going anywhere he was going to like.  
  
"Saltville, not York," he answered, reflexively, avoiding the question. "You need a little more naked holiday?"  
  
"No, I..." Reid squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "I'm about to ask you to do something incredibly dangerous, but I really believe that you're the most capable and trustworthy choice. I really believe you're the most likely to survive."  
  
"What." Coffee, Langly decided. He hadn't had his coffee, yet. Neither of them had. This was just the spinout from some weird nightmare.  
  
"The next victim is supposed to be a Swedish police officer." Reid looked less certain, swallowing before he tried to explain the plan.  
  
Langly cut him off with a relieved sigh, hands coming to rest on Reid's thighs. "You want me to go stand around and look like a cop, so some serial killer will come after me, right?"  
  
"I realise I'm asking a lot, and you should tell me no, if this isn't something you're comfortable with..."  
  
"Reid. Stop. I thought you were going to ask me something actually dangerous. This guy's killing people with a pillow, right? I promise you my middle finger is more dangerous than some swizzledick with a _pillow_." Langly ran his hands up Reid's thighs, an amused smile spreading to his lips from where it started in his eyes. "No guns, right? No stabbing? Nobody got punched? If somebody got punched I might have some second thoughts."  
  
"So far, the victims have all been asleep. There's no signs of any weapons having been used, and we haven't turned up any _obvious_ sedatives. There _are_ signs the wrists may have been bound before death. He's been kneeling on their chests and waiting for them to suffocate. A pillow was _likely_ used in at least two cases to speed things up," Reid explained, quietly, still looking like he was waiting for Langly to say no. Or maybe hoping he would.  
  
"You're not worried about me because you think I can fry his ass with lightning, no matter what he tries." Langly nodded as best as he could while lying on his own hair.  
  
"I'm extremely worried. This is exactly the kind of thing I shouldn't even be suggesting, but... yes, I think you're better armed than any of the actual local police. You don't need a free hand or distance." Reid dropped his phone onto the bed next to them. "I shouldn't be asking you this. For any number of reasons, I shouldn't be asking _you_ , specifically."  
  
"Too late. You said it. I'm doing it." Langly slid the blanket up over Reid's shoulders and pulled him down, until Reid stopped himself with an arm over Langly's shoulder. "Call whoever you have to call and get this started. Tell me what I need to do to look like the perfect victim. And then come back to bed, because it's three in the damn morning, and if we're both up, I think we can get another couple of hours before anyone else is even wearing pants."

* * *

"Reid's got a plan," JJ explained to Prentiss. "You should let me in. I'm carrying coffee."  
  
"Reid's going to have a heart attack, if he doesn't start sleeping." Prentiss stepped back from the door and pushed it closed behind JJ, the smell of coffee slowly filling the room.  
  
Lewis looked like she was trying to decide whether to finish waking up as she reholstered her gun and slipped it back into her bag. "What about Reid?"  
  
"Coffee." Prentiss pointed to the pot JJ was carrying and went to get cups from the other side of the room.  
  
"Actually, it _is_ his coffee," JJ admitted. "There's never enough in those little baskets, so he bought the stuff Villette likes, the last time he stopped for orange juice. And then, last night Frank showed up--" She held up the hand not holding the coffee. "--and I promised he would not like the results if he ever pulled a stunt like that again, but it's Christmas, so Reid's ... well, he was supposed to be sleeping in, but it's a quarter to four, and he has the best idea we've had yet."  
  
"I'd say he should be treated for insomnia, but he should probably cut the coffee first," Lewis muttered, as Prentiss put a cup in her hands.  
  
"He tried that. It didn't actually help." Prentiss shook her head. "So, what's today's first act of genius?"  
  
"We're using Frank as bait. I already gave him the okay, and they're setting it up."  
  
Prentiss's eyes widened. "You _what_? Explain to me why this isn't the single worst idea-- Frank's a civilian! Frank is-- This is like using Garcia for bait, but worse!"  
  
"We've done that," JJ reminded her. "And as has been pointed out to me, Frank has surveillance equipment we can't even hope to match. We don't have the budget to compete with his toys."  
  
"So, the idea is that we get this on video and then rush in and rescue him? Do I need to point out how wrong that's likely to go?" Prentiss looked entirely unconvinced.  
  
"More or less wrong than the times we've done this with an _actual_ victim? I watched this guy walk through some kind of psychotropic gas, unscathed, on Fitzgerald. He was part of the three-man team that _finished_ the Fitzgerald case, and according to Villette, he handled himself like a combat reporter, which is pretty consistent with what I've seen. This guy's been shot at before, which makes me real curious about what he's not telling us, and I hope Reid knows what he's doing." JJ knew who 'Frank Arroway' had once been, and how much effort had been exerted to erase that connection. But, as long as he wasn't causing problems, she and Garcia were content to hold back what they knew, even from the rest of the team -- especially since the 'mistaken identity' had been dismantled across newspapers and talk shows in the wake of Fitzgerald. "I'm a lot less concerned about putting _Frank_ in a high-stress situation that's likely to end in someone trying to kill him or hold him hostage than I would be about some of the locals, if only because I know damn well he has the experience not to do something _stupid_ , and get himself and maybe someone else killed."  
  
"He was also _abducted_ during Fitzgerald," Prentiss reminded JJ. "Are we sure he can handle this? He went into the raid on the West house with two agents, and even if he was getting shot at, he was well defended and part of a team. He'd be going into this... I don't want to say 'alone', because we're going to be right there, but--"  
  
"He'd be alone inside the house." Lewis nodded, halfway through her coffee and already better focused. "You're worried he can't handle the appearance of being without backup, after the abduction. How did that happen? Even now most of the details of Fitzgerald are restricted."  
  
"It's only our case because ACTF can't talk about why they were interested without causing serious problems for the _victims_ ," Prentiss explained, trying to decide how much she could say about what she even knew. "But, Frank was heading down to pick up Reid from the airport, and he got run off the road and drugged. One of West's men thought he recognised him from something twenty years ago, and they decided to try to extract information from him. I'm not entirely clear on how the ACTF team found him, but I gather he activated some kind of beacon and Gates figured out where he was."  
  
"I've heard parts of the recordings picked up by the beacon," JJ admitted, shaking her head. "I'm amazed they kept him alive as long as they did."  
  
"From what Villette said, they almost didn't," Prentiss reminded her. "And this is part of why I'm worried about this plan."  
  
"We already have every obvious target's house under surveillance. The department's a lot more cooperative when the next victim's likely to be one of their own. If it's one of them, we'll probably get the guy, but we'll probably get him _dead_."  
  
"You really think Frank can get him alive?" Prentiss looked unconvinced. "Or that _we_ can, without Frank coming to any harm?"  
  
"There were some unexplained marks on the walls and injuries during the West raid," JJ said, carefully. "I understand Frank is ... very good with a taser."  
  
"You really gave Reid the go-ahead without bringing this to me, first?"  
  
"You were asleep. If this was going to go, Frank needed to lay the groundwork before the morning news broadcasts." JJ poured the last cup of coffee for herself. "If you want to call it off, it's a lot easier to do that than it would have been to start late."  
  
Prentiss nodded. "Yeah, all right. That's probably true." She paused. "Do you think this is actually a good idea? You've worked more closely with Frank, because of Fitzgerald."  
  
"I'll be surprised if the UNSUB hasn't already chosen the next victim. I don't think it's going to work, but only because we're too _late_." JJ sipped her coffee and considered her answer. "I do think Frank stands a very good chance of surviving this and doing so in a way that's not going to end in _any_ fatalities. It's the difference between training and field experience, and I get the impression that Frank has the kind of field experience we all hope we never get."  
  
"Get Reid on the phone. I'm going to get dressed." Prentiss crossed to the closet to retrieve her clothes. "I need to know everything, so that when I have to explain why we thought this was a good idea, I can do it without getting blindsided."

* * *

Crocker was still the same woman she'd been, the last time Chaz had seen her, though maybe with a little more grey in her hair, this time. It was almost enough to make him wonder how he'd look if he stopped dyeing his own, but then he remembered the sight of himself when he first woke up, when everyone still thought he was going to die, and decided against it. But, Crocker was still broad-shouldered and round-cheeked, and quick to smile at the sight of him.  
  
"Do you even age?" Crocker teased, as if she'd read his mind, holding out one hand and clapping him on the shoulder with the other. "What'd you just turn twenty-eight for the tenth time?"  
  
"Only the seventh!" Chaz laughed and shook her hand, anticipating the knuckle-breaking grip in a way he hadn't, the first time they'd met. "So, the latest one's what got the captain's attention?"  
  
"We've had three more since I sent you the file. Even Ashland couldn't keep ignoring it. Either we've got a murderer, or we've got something going on that's causing an outrageous number of mostly non-residents to come here and commit suicide." Crocker waved the rest of the team into the room and gestured to the boxes of donuts already stacked in the middle of the table. "I remember how you guys eat."  
  
Hafidha made straight for the donuts, equipment case rolling after her, the handle half-forgotten in her hand. "Are you still single? Because I could do with a wife who meets me with donuts."  
  
"I bring her donuts all the time, and this is the respect I get." Chaz rolled his eyes at Lau, who shook her head and went for the coffee maker.  
  
"So, the thing about suicides," Duke started, taking a seat at the end of the table and helping himself to a donut, before Chaz and Hafidha could eat them all, "is that clustering isn't uncommon. Like that forest in Japan that's apparently the go-to place for killing yourself. I'm interested in how much contact the victims had with each other, especially the first... maybe three of them."  
  
"If it was one hotel, I'd buy it," Lau decided, and Hafidha nodded and pointed at her, mouth too full of jelly donut to speak. "The spread is weird. The focal point is the hospital, and none of the deaths have happened there. The first three victims might have run into each other in the hospital, but they weren't staying at the same hotel. It looks like five hotels have had suicides in the period we're looking at."  
  
"That's the five hotels closest to the hospital. It's midtown, so there's a freeway exit, a hotel cluster, and the hospital. The exit on the far side of town has another hotel cluster, but that's by the truck stops. There's a more touristy cluster further from the freeway, not that there's a whole lot of touristy things to do, here. The zoo, the botanic gardens, a museum or two -- nothing you'd come here for intentionally, but the kind of thing you take the kids to, if you're visiting family." Crocker pulled down a city map. "One of these years we'll badger Ashland into letting us have computer maps and a projector. I marked the hospital and the hotels. You probably already have a better map, but this is what I've been working with."  
  
"Hafs?" Chaz raised his eyebrows at her, and she licked the powdered sugar off her fingers and started unpacking.  
  
"The rest of that box is mine. Don't think you can sneak one while I'm plugging things in."  
  
"I would never!" Chaz put on the most innocent look he could manage and swiped a donut from the box Hafs had left open. There were enough to go around. "We have a better map, but you know the neighbourhood, and I'm hoping you'll notice something we missed."  
  
While Hafidha adjusted the projector and plugged things in, Lau explained their current strategy. "We've taken rooms where we can get them -- obviously this is the worst time to be trying to check into a hotel, but we've gotten into three of the five and identified a few more potential victims. Thankfully, the hospital didn't fight us too long on the visitor logs. I had to explain we didn't actually have any interest in the patient information, only in the names of people who were _visiting_ patients who were unlikely to recover."  
  
"Villette and Gates are on the same floor with one of them." Duke reached for a donut from the box Hafidha had claimed and got slapped away. "Lau and Gates are taking turns at the hospital. Villette's kind of noticeable, and I'm too old to attract the killer's attention -- assuming we have a killer. The suicides have all been people who aren't staring down the ends of their _own_ lives."  
  
"If you're looking for bait, he's perfect, though." Crocker pointed to Chaz. "Noticeable, always looks uncomfortable. He's an easy sell for 'relative in ICU'."  
  
"He's better if we hide him as a janitor," Lau explained, as she tried not to explain at all. "Nobody ever looks too long at maintenance staff, and he's got a particular insight into people. Obviously, he's a profiler, but he's just creepy when he gets going."  
  
"Thanks, Nikki." Chaz looked up from trying to wipe powdered sugar off his shirt.  
  
"What, are you going to tell me it's _not_ creepy when you do that? Because I've heard you complain."  
  
"Okay, it's creepy. You look at someone the right way, and you start seeing things you shouldn't know; things they're not going to tell you, if you ask, but if you put them under surveillance, it comes out. There are _always_ tells," Chaz lied. There were usually tells for a lot of things, but he wasn't dependent on them, even though he knew them and used them. They were his cue to take a closer look. He could handle a few people. He couldn't handle an entire ward's worth of doctors, nurses, staff, and visitors, and he'd learnt that the hard way, before he got it under control.  
  
Duke cocked his head at Chaz. "Don't play poker with him."  
  
Crocker laughed. "I made that mistake _once_."  
  
"And you still owe me dinner."  
  
"Does she make enough money to buy you dinner?" Lau teased, as Hafidha brought up the map and projected it on the wall.


	22. Chapter 22

Chaz kept his head down, eyes mostly on the floor, as he ducked into a maintenance closet to take a break. Just a few minutes in the dark, just a few minutes without the constant pressure of grief and pain. He was good at this -- after this many years, he had to be -- but he still hated high-intensity clusters. Hospitals and funerals were some of his least-favourite things, regardless of why he was there. People-watching in a ward full of terminal patients was asking for trouble, and three hours in, he already felt like he was drowning.  
  
Of course, he'd shut Reid out completely, but Reid understood what was happening, respected how stupid and dangerous this was. And hadn't tried to stop him, for which Chaz was grateful. But, the hollowness still felt cold. And he wondered how he could still feel so empty with other people's suffering leaking through every crack in his psyche. Just a few more breaths, and he'd go back out and mop in front of the nurses' station. It was a good place to see anyone coming in and it was perpetually muddy, even up here on the seventh floor, so he wouldn't look out of place.  
  
The snow hadn't stopped since that morning, and where there were windows, he could see the overlapping greys of the sky, clouds, and blowing snow and sleet. He had to admit the weather was depressing, even by itself. Maybe it actually was random. Maybe the suicides really were suicides who just couldn't handle a prairie winter. As he'd thought many times before, he really didn't want to handle another prairie winter, either. But here he was, on Christmas Day, mopping up after sickness, death, and a snowstorm that wouldn't die.  
  
He'd had worse Christmases. He might be _in_ a hospital, but at least he wasn't _hospitalised_.  
  
Chaz pulled the door in and led with the mop bucket, looking back to drag the door after him, as he stepped out, directly into the path of a man in a heavy coat, the outdoor chill still clinging to him.  
  
"Watch where the fuck you're going, Pedro," the man snapped, kicking the bucket back against Chaz's legs.  
  
"Oh, _shit_ ," Hafidha muttered, from the other side of the floor, where she sat at the foot of a comatose patient's bed, watching Chaz make a decision about whether to respond. She'd figured the guy who never got visitors was probably a safe place to pretend she belonged. "Don't do it. Don't do it..."  
  
But, Chaz had already straightened up, towering over the man, who had very likely never felt short a day in his life. He couldn't find his voice with all of his attention focused on not giving in to the easy answer, on not adding to the number of so-called suicides. He kept the mirror folded inward, not to throw the guy back at himself, though he was sure his eyes still reflected something incredibly unpleasant. Nothing for that, though. He only had so much control, and he knew where it was most important.  
  
He kept his eyes on the floor as he felt someone tug on his sleeve.  
  
"Oh, good, here you are! Please come and bring the mop! There's a completely gross mess in the bathroom at the end of the hall!" Hafidha kept an iron grip on Chaz's cuff, unsure if he had the presence of mind to take the escape she was offering him. He was pinned in the doorway of the closet, stuck between the angry man and the mop bucket, but if she made it sound disgusting enough, she was sure the angry man would stop being a problem, _quickly_. "It looks like somebody shit in a blender with no lid!"  
  
That was it. The man in the coat stared at her in horror and then turned away, muttering loudly as he stormed down the hall toward the nurses's station. "Good luck getting that feral wetback to listen to you."  
  
Chaz took a deep breath and Hafidha grabbed his other arm.  
  
"Don't do it. Not on this case."  
  
The sound that finally made it out of his mouth was a breath that might've been a laugh. "In a blender?"  
  
She led him the other way down the hall, speaking quietly as she pointed toward the bathroom, hoping they still passed as a concerned visitor and a janitor. "You looked like you were going to give him a month's worth of nightmares. If he turns out to be a potential victim, we'd never know..."  
  
"I know," Chaz breathed, shaking his head as if at whatever disaster Hafidha was describing. He opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, letting her follow him in. "Did he actually call me a wetback? It is _December_."  
  
"It's the bucket," Hafidha decided, after studying Chaz for a moment. "You're not blond and you've got a mop, therefore..."  
  
"I refuse to have regrets if he's the next victim, just so you know." He started mopping the floor, just to look like he was doing something. Just to have something to focus on that wasn't how much he wanted to give the guy in the hall a black eye. And that really wasn't like him, but the stress wasn't doing him any favours. The Anomaly liked suffering, and he was surrounded with it.  
  
Hafidha's gaze grew a bit more intent. "To go back to shit in a blender, for a sec, you sure you're okay?"  
  
"Because I look like somebody just turned on the blender?"  
  
"Pretty much, yeah."  
  
Chaz squeezed his eyes shut, resting his head on his hand on the end of the mop handle. "I would kill for an Excedrin, right about now."  
  
"Stay in here and look busy. I'll go see what I can scrape up."  
  
"I'll settle for two shots of espresso and Tylenol." Chaz looked sideways just far enough to catch a blurry glimpse of Hafidha through his hair and the pressure behind his eyes. "Coffee cart's on --"  
  
"Three, where the parking structure connects."  
  
"You're the best."  
  
"Only when I'm not throwing your pyrex off the balcony."

* * *

As the day passed, Reid got less and less pleasant, and more than once, he caught Prentiss watching him, curiously. He knew what she was thinking. She was wrong. He'd lost both of them at the same time -- Chaz had nearly cut the connection, which was probably a good idea, and Langly had gotten himself outfitted as an officer and he was out patrolling a park, with one of the locals. That might not be as good an idea as Reid wanted it to be.  
  
Everything was in place. Langly and Frohike had edited Langly into the background of some news footage that aired again that morning. Langly's photo had been added to the appropriate places in the Idaho Falls Police website. Records had been shifted around so it looked like he'd lived in town for years, working for the police the whole time. Officer Dane Larson had a whole history in Idaho Falls, and it was drizzled with key phrases from the biography of the next doll.  
  
They all just hoped they'd moved soon enough. It was Tuesday, already, and the next attack would be on Thursday night. The plan was to keep most of the local police who fit the profile out of harm's way by keeping them together. So far, all the victims had lived alone, so sending people to belated holiday parties that would last until dawn would keep them safe. The best choice would be the suddenly highly-visible Dane Larson.  
  
The best choice would be _Langly_ , and Reid still felt sick about it. Twice as sick that Langly was still _here_ , instead of safe in York, and they weren't together. He couldn't put his hands on Langly's shoulders just to reassure himself the man was still present, alive, and not a hallucination.

* * *

"So, what's it like being a fibbie?" Officer Johnstone asked, waving to a young mother whose baby waved back, as he and 'Larson' crossed the park, yet again.  
  
"Me?" Langly looked entirely offended. "Oh, no no. I am _not_ an agent of the Federal Bucket of Imbeciles. I'm just a technical consultant. But, I've got the looks and I know how to not get my ass shot off, blown up, or trampled by a stampeding herd of pissed off cows, so I'm the guy."  
  
Johnstone's head turned so fast he could swear his neck squeaked. " _Technical consultant_? And they let you carry a _gun_?"  
  
"Pssh. A gun." Langly rolled his eyes and turned his head to see Johnstone past the brim of his hat. "I know kung-fu. Besides, I grew up on a farm. I can handle a gun. I would rather not handle a gun, but I can handle a gun. If entirely necessary, I could probably even shoot someone, but that's where the kung-fu comes in. Or at least the part where I'm wearing mini stunners in places you wouldn't imagine, and they're loaded for bear."  
  
"Mini stunners?" Johnstone thought about it for a bit, stopping to watch some children playing. "The technical in 'technical consultant'."  
  
"Bingo. I just have to make contact and I can put someone down. Best part? They'll get back up in a few minutes. No bleeding, no broken bones. Not the best feeling in the world, and probably not something you want to do to somebody with a pacemaker, but I don't really see myself punching grandpas."  
  
"Speaking of grandpas, how old are you? 'Cause I heard some things..." Johnstone gave Langly a sidelong eye.  
  
"Larson's forty. It's a nice round number, at the high end of the age range." Langly shrugged and counted in his head, before deciding he was taking the easy way out of this one. He shot a sharp look at Johnstone. "I'm not _that_ much older. Sure as hell not _grandpa_ -aged."  
  
"Fifty-four," Johnstone admitted, with a faint smile. "And my granddaughter just turned three."  
  
"No kids." Langly shook his head, watching the little hellions run around in circles, shrieking and grabbing at each other. Happily, he guessed, since none of the parents seemed to be getting involved. Had he been like that? Had Mary? He thought about calling Alcea. She was always happy to hear from her Uncle Frank... And then he wondered how dangerous it would be to introduce her to Mary. He shook his head again to clear it. "I'm not really the dad type. I'm not even the somebody's boyfriend type."  
  
"You're _somebody's_ boyfriend." Johnstone started walking again, heading toward a bike rack, to make sure nothing had been damaged or stolen. "I picked that up listening to your team, this morning. It's that blonde girl, isn't it. Agent... Jerome?"  
  
"Jareau?" Langly laughed. "She's married to somebody that's not me, and he's welcome to her. I'm saying this so you don't say the wrong thing to somebody and have it _not_ be funny."  
  
"So, who is she?" Johnstone crouched down to check if he was seeing a cut lock between two bikes.  
  
"What's it to _you_?" Langly put his hand on a nearby lamppost and looked up at the light, as it came on. He followed the wires, picking out the light-sensor switch and three dead bulbs.  
  
"I just want to know who to send flowers to, when you turn up dead, Friday morning."

* * *

Mary tossed the paperwork on the table, as she unwrapped her scarf. "Okay, while the two of you were juggling boxes, I ran the test." She eyed Frohike. "You want to tell me how you knew?"  
  
"I've been doing this a long time, and I have seen some shit. Most of the Syndicate's clones couldn't reproduce, but they didn't figure it out for a while, because the first few sets weren't supposed to. Turns out there were some grafting problems with the extraterrestrial DNA, so even when that switch was turned back on, it didn't work. But, they were still struggling with that in the nineties. _You're_ obviously not an alien hybrid, given when you were born, which means he's probably not one, either, since that part of the Project didn't start until the seventies, from what we can tell." Frohike held out his cup as Byers approached with a fresh pot of coffee and a cup for Mary. "But, we've got a lot of old stuff back, now. Byers scanned some records we thought we'd lost, a couple decades ago, and I'd believe the same source research that the Project was using spawned the experiments that produced the two of you. Back in the fifties, the Soviets were doing experiments with identical twins, trying to figure out how to intentionally make twins, basically. Their research led to cloning. By the seventies, the Project's problem wasn't reproducing humans, it was reproducing humans with injected extraterrestrial DNA."  
  
"So, what we think," Byers said, pouring Frohike's coffee, "is that you two are a different kind of modified twin/clone experiment. I'm inclined to think it's a failed eugenics experiment."  
  
"Failed? We're both alive." Mary looked confused as she warmed her hands on her cup.  
  
"That's not the point. The research was at a point where 'alive' was almost a given."  
  
Frohike held up a hand. "The problem is your cousin Dick is one. And he's garbage in a fistfight."  
  
"Assuming it is eugenics, you're looking in the wrong places. We're both _scientists_." Mary flipped over one of the pages and pulled out a pen, sketching out a bunch of lines and boxes, labelling them as she went. "So, in your average utopian -- or, more commonly, these days, dystopian -- story, the populace is divided into classes based on what they do. It's a caste system. No one is good at everything, which is supposed to preserve the balance of the structure. We're not warriors or politicians -- we're scientists. He's arguably also an artist, but I think that's a later application of the skillset. Somewhere in the set you'd usually also find labourers and caregivers. But, we're the brains of the operation. I bet he doesn't have the coordination for fighting."  
  
"He's got the coordination to build electronics," Frohike argued.  
  
"He's got really good fine motor control and hand-eye coordination. I think he's lacking in _gross_ motor control, though. Bet he trips over his feet when he runs, right? Types a hundred and twenty words a minute, but knocks shit over, can't tell his left from his right, and always moves about a second too late, if he has to move more than his hands, eyes, or mouth?" Mary leaned back and smirked, crossing her ankles under the table, in a move that was still disturbing to see on Langly-but-not-Langly. "And nobody lets him drive, right?"  
  
"Dr Reid lets him drive," Byers admitted. "He's not ... bad at those things, but he's not good at them, either. And when he's stressed, he doesn't lose speed and control in his _hands_ , but I've seen him walk into walls. Still, he's getting better. He... ah... gets more practice."  
  
"Championship Dance Dance Revolution." Frohike rolled his eyes. "I can't believe he's good enough those girls let him on their team."  
  
Mary just stared. "I'm sorry, he _what_?"  
  
"Your twin cousin plays DDR. Regularly."  
  
"Still, why would we be a failed experiment?" Mary asked again, trying to put the image of Cousin Dick playing DDR out of her head.  
  
"You both wear glasses. That's not a good sign. Even if you're right about the genetic castes, and caste-keeping disabilities, being able to read, unassisted, seems like it would be essential to the genotype." Byers shrugged. "I admit, when you said 'eugenics' my first thought was 'super soldiers'--"  
  
"We've seen that before." Frohike rolled his eyes.  
  
"But, even so, relatively severe myopia is the kind of thing you'd want to avoid." Byers paused, studying Mary. "You are nearsighted, right?"  
  
She nodded. "But, you know that because Dick's nearsighted."  
  
"Nearsighted enough that you need glasses to even read a book, not just to see across the room?"  
  
"Yeah." Mary looked contemplative, and took her glasses off to look at them. "Remind me to put his glasses on, when he gets back. We're twins. We should have the same prescription. Which means either they don't care that we're nearsighted or it's linked to something else that was edited in, and they can't get it out without breaking the intended effect."  
  
"I think the next step is to look for patterns in the garbage repeats," Frohike suggested, sipping his coffee. "Something was put in; something was changed, or you wouldn't be a woman. If we can figure out where you're _not_ him, we might be able to figure out where this experiment was going."  
  
"I think we need an actual geneticist," Mary pointed out. "I'm pretty good, but I'm a _pathologist_. I do _bacterial_ DNA, most of the time. We need someone familiar with parts of the human genome _I'm_ not usually looking at, because I can read the parts most people _care_ about, but I don't think I'm going to know the difference if we start looking in weird places."  
  
Frohike stared into his cup, thinking about the idea. "Byers, we know somebody, don't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Things have been... unnecessarily exciting.


	23. Chapter 23

"Why the hell are you still in Idaho?" Frohike demanded, trying to decide how pissed to be that Langly had started this adventure and then fucked off to have a Christmas holiday with his boyfriend. "Isn't he still in the middle of a case?"  
  
"Yeah, he is. And so am I."  
  
"So, why aren't you here working on it?"  
  
Langly's incomprehensible sound of frustration came through clearly. "No, I'm in the middle of _his_ case. And right now I'm standing in the middle of a police station bathroom talking to myself, so I gotta keep it short, but I'm being used as serial killer bait."  
  
There was a long pause as Frohike tried to wrap his brain around the idea. It wasn't that they'd never used Langly as bait -- using Langly as bait was a pretty regular decision, once upon a time -- but, as a distraction. _Usually_ against guards who weren't armed with more than nightsticks and tasers and had a distinct interest in _not killing people_. "Reid's letting this happen?"  
  
"Reid suggested it. Woke up like a spooked cat, in the middle of the night, and decided it was a good idea. And then decided it wasn't a good idea, but you know, too late, I already said I was doing it. It's, ah... Tomorrow night we get to see if I can not get killed before the feds make it into the apartment." The sentence ended on a nervous laugh.  
  
"Jesus christ. You're fifty fucking years old, Langly, and--"  
  
"And you were doing wire work at fifty, so don't give me that shit!" Langly snapped.  
  
"-- and you haven't done this in twenty years."  
  
"Yeah, well, twenty years ago I couldn't shoot lightning out of my ass, either. I'll be _fine_."  
  
"If you die--"  
  
"Pay my cousin whatever she wants for the farm and give it to Reid."  
  
Frohike couldn't quite swallow the laugh. "So, if you figuratively buy the farm, we should literally buy the farm?"  
  
Langly paused and all the sound on the line stopped with him. "God _damn_ it, Tango."  
  
"Listen, before you drop dead, can you put Mary in contact with your lab rat? The person who did the first round of tests is an actual geneticist, right?"  
  
"Dr Alfarsi? Yeah. I picked her and Dr Benally because we've been pouring money down their lab for years. I guess Byers liked the investment, when they were starting out, so they don't know our names -- or they didn't, until pretty recently -- but they know the foundation. I can probably get Dr Alfarsi to take another look at the samples with Mary consulting. She's pretty interested in whatever this is. I'm just not sure how many people we want to involve, yet. You remember all the ways this could go wrong, right? Trying not to get anyone else killed because we got a little too curious."  
  
Frohike gave it a moment's thought. "That's still possible, but we're looking at something that was probably an extension of an old Soviet research project from the fifties. I'm pretty sure everyone involved is _dead_."  
  
"Yeah, and we thought that about Overlord, too, didn't we. You see where that-- I gotta go. I'll make it happen."

* * *

Hafidha adjusted the bugzapper, because otherwise this would be an irresistible opportunity to do something regrettable. She'd tuned it well enough, over the years, that most of the time she could avoid kicking Chaz in anything they'd both regret, while he was down, but that was a more usual sort of down -- pissed off at himself, nightmares, hospitalised again. This was ... not new, if she was honest. He'd been like this for a few days, after Beale. After he'd gotten out of the hospital, after Beale. But, that was years ago.  
  
Still, she should've seen this coming.  
  
Chaz was curled up in the corner, between the edge of the dresser and the wall -- the least visible place in a too-small room -- crying almost silently against his knees, telling himself this had been a good idea, and it was still a good idea, if he could just get back up. He felt like he'd been poisoned, and having been poisoned a few times, he was pretty clear on what that felt like. But, it wasn't anything he'd put in his mouth. Just what he'd put in his head. He'd forgotten why he hated hospitals so much.  
  
 _Oh, sure_ , he'd thought, _I'll just skim a little bit from everyone who passes, and we'll see who doesn't seem quite right_. It was the best idea any of them had. Except he'd been standing in a ward full of people who were actually dying. And he knew what that was like -- he'd almost done it enough times. And almost everyone else had been waiting for them to die, hoping they wouldn't die... and he'd been there, too. Once, he'd lost almost everyone. All at once. But, this wasn't that timeline. They were all still here. Well, most of them. And every glimpse he got, mopping those halls, was something he didn't need to be reminded of.  
  
But, it was over, now. He'd fixed as much as he could. He'd saved as many people as he could be certain of saving, and he'd almost died doing it. But, he'd done it. And this was all just a nightmare. Another bad dream. _Somebody else's problem_. Literally somebody else's problem. Several somebodies, several problems.  
  
Get back up on it, he told himself. And then he realised he'd have to get out from under it, first.  
  
The smell of a greasy burger brought his attention back to the room, to where Hafidha had piled fast food bags on the dresser next to him. Eating. Right. Eating was a thing he should have been doing. Not that he'd skipped any meals, yet, but he was definitely out to the edge of where 'dinner' turned into 'midnight snack'. And that was stupid, on his part, and he knew it. And Hafs knew it, too.  
  
"There's a dozen burgers. If you eat more than six, I will hit you." Hafidha's voice was muffled by chewing, from where she sat with her back to the dresser and her feet under the bed. "Okay, _eleven_ , now. And fries, because you should probably eat a carb before you die."  
  
Chaz's next breath stuttered as the crying started again, garbling what sounded like a mouthful of expletives. He stuck his hand out, anyway, and was promptly rewarded with a box of fries with a packet of ketchup tucked in the side.  
  
"So, I think we can all agree this was a stupid idea, and we all knew better, but especially you."  
  
Chaz coughed and stuck his hand out again, this time ending up with a very large soda, no ice. A good bit of that went down first. "This is a good idea, and it will work."  
  
"This would be illegal if anyone had the slightest idea you could do it," Hafidha reminded him. "And it's killing you."  
  
"It is not _killing_ me," he argued, with a mouthful of fries.  
  
"Okay, it's not Beale, but look at yourself. You are not okay, Chazzie. You've been crying in a corner for _three hours_."  
  
That stopped him for a whole second, as he considered it. Three _hours_? He'd lost track of time, but was it really more than fifteen minutes? Probably. But, if he couldn't convince _himself_ he was all right, he wasn't going to be able to convince himself to do it again, tomorrow. And, if they were particularly unlucky, the day after that, too.  
  
"It's just flashbacks. You know why I can usually do hospitals? Because I'm not trying to do this at all. In fact, I'm trying to _not_ do this. Lock it down, hide it under the sofa, don't accidentally read anyone's mind. And I'm pretty good at it, too. But, this isn't even just trying to pick one person out of a crowd. This is periodically opening the flood gates to everything on the floor. Even if it's just a crack, the pressure is incredible. The Anomaly is probably enjoying this. _I'm not_." Chaz stopped to shove more fries in his mouth, talking before he was sure he'd be coherent. "It's just a _really bad day_. A really bad couple of days. I can do this for a few more days, and by then, we'll know who we're looking at."  
  
"Chazzie..."  
  
"What? I'm fine. I'll eat. I'll sleep. It'll ..." He'd meant to say 'go away', but that was a lie. It never went away, he just _put it_ away. He remembered everything just as well as his own past. "It'll be less bad in the morning. Assuming we get this guy, it'll be a lot less bad _next week_. I spend way too much time in hospitals to let this bother me."  
  
"That is exactly why it bothers you. You spend way too much time in hospitals." The crinkle of paper was the only warning before Hafidha winged a wadded up burger wrapper around the edge of the dresser, bouncing it off Chaz's face. "And you're going to end up spending more time in one if you screw yourself up doing this."  
  
"Well, lucky me, I'm not going to screw up, myself or otherwise." He hoped.

* * *

"I want to go with you, but I can't." Reid's hands were clenched in the pockets of his jacket. Standing here, in a building full of people he didn't know, he refused to give anyone walking by the slightest impression of what this conversation was about.  
  
"Of course you can't." Langly rolled his eyes. "Because it's not much of a trap if the hot fed walks into the building with me, is it?"  
  
"Promise me, L-- _Frank_. Promise me you will not hesitate. Promise me you will not wait for me." Reid took a long, shaky breath. "I know what it says in the book. I know what JJ and Prentiss told you. But, I also know how many times we weren't fast enough. I know how many times these things have turned into hostage situations. Promise me if you think you're in danger--"  
  
"I know where every wire, outlet, and lamp is in that apartment. I know it with my eyes closed. All I have to do is plug in my phone, and everything's mine, and we both know I have enough time to plug in my phone. Every one of the victims was already asleep, right? Looks like they were taken out of bed? I have time." Langly failed to suppress a sharp smile. "And we both know what a lousy hostage I am."  
  
"I'm trying to avoid a repeat of that scenario."  
  
"That makes at least two of us." Langly tried to jam his hands into his pockets and punched himself in the gear belt a couple of times, before he remembered where the pockets were in this stupid uniform. "Speaking of us, how's Villette?"  
  
"No idea. He cut me off, Tuesday morning. He, too, is doing something stupid and dangerous, and it's dangerous enough that I don't even get to watch." Reid could feel his fingers going numb as his hands clenched ever tighter. "He's afraid he won't be able to protect me from ... Do you remember how uncomfortable it was to have him in your head? He's trying not to do that to me, but with a few dozen other people's memories."  
  
"He's totally lost his shit, hasn't he."  
  
"Not... yet. I don't think. Hafidha hasn't called, yet, so I'm assuming he's still standing up and able to put sentences together." Reid tipped his head, eyelids fluttering in annoyance. "Of course that _might_ be because nobody wants to distract me from this case, until _you're_ not in immediate danger."  
  
"Reid. I'll be fine. As far as we know, this guy doesn't use a gun or anything else I have to worry about from the other side of a room. All I have to do is get in bed and play with the internet until I hear the door open. The minute this jerkoff touches me, I blow a lamp on him, and we're done. I'm pretty clear on exactly what I need to hit a grown man with to incapacitate him, for _obvious reasons_." Langly squinted at Reid, suddenly suspicious. "Do I have scars from that? You'd tell me if I had scars from that, right?"  
  
"I'm _surprised_ you don't, but no, you don't." A small smile tugged at the corners of Reid's mouth. "I spend enough time looking at your back that I think I would have noticed."  
  
"Remind me why I'm not allowed to kiss you?"  
  
As Reid opened his mouth to answer, hands clenched tight enough that he wondered if he was bleeding, Simmons leaned into the room.  
  
"Time to get this show on the road."  
  
Resignation writ itself large across Reid's face. "That's why. You'll see me in a few hours. I'll be there."  
  
Raising his eyebrows at Simmons, as he squeezed past him in the doorway, Reid turned and headed for the bathroom. At the very least, if the death grip the anxiety had on his stomach got any worse, he'd be ready for it. Much more civilised than throwing up in somebody's desk bin. And 'anxiety' was really understating things. Terror. Stark, bloodless terror. His hands felt like ice, and he couldn't feel his lips any more. Hadn't he already made this mistake, once? But, this was different. This was intentional. This was with full knowledge and some amount of foresight.  
  
This time, the endgame was his own.  
  
He just hoped that mattered at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No editing. It's two hours past my bedtime. If you spot any typos or glaring continuity errors, let me know.


	24. Chapter 24

The first sign Langly had that things were not going according to plan was when someone tried to splice into his surveillance feed. He let it happen, following the line back to its source. Interesting -- not just some script kiddie who picked up the wireless camera signal and broke the relatively useless native encryption, but someone trying to slip in a video loop, to subtly make the cameras blind. Again, he allowed it. Bait the hook. So far, this was unfolding on a level he understood. This kind of attack, he was comfortable with.  
  
He almost texted Reid, before he caught himself. They'd seen how easily Narcisse had intercepted his calls. No, that wasn't a good idea, when he wasn't sure where this guy had eyes and hands. Hafs, on the other hand... He was going to owe her for this. Possibly his life. But, he could triple her equipment budget, which might count as returning the favour. She'd pick up the untainted video for him and get it to _somebody_ on the right team.  
  
Langly could hear the door click open, but that wasn't the right direction for the door. A squeal and a snap from the kitchen caught his attention. This was ridiculous. They'd picked a third-storey apartment with no balcony, just to cut down on likely entrances, and the casement windows in the kitchen weren't considered a viable entrance, but that's where someone had just let themselves in, and he threw that information at Hafidha, as the door to the bedroom swung open.  
  
It wasn't a real problem. The situation was still under control. Reid's team might be blind, but Hafs wasn't, and he was sure that if anything went wrong, she'd be able to get someone to come in after him. But, it wasn't going to go wrong. The killer had gotten to each victim the same way, and the pattern would repeat, just like they expected it to.  
  
The voice from the doorway changed all those assumptions. "I know you're awake. You thought you'd set a trap, and I'd fall right into it. That or you thought I'd pass on Officer Ahlberg, because no one would think they could get to a cop. But, I can. I can get to anyone. Go on and call for help. No one can hear you."  
  
Langly stayed still, pretending he hadn't heard, pretending he was just a mannequin. If there was one thing he was sure of, the guy had to actually threaten him, in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. The spitting sound and the sudden pain in his leg told him two things -- the game had changed, and the guy was wearing night-vision goggles, because there was no way he could've made that shot in this windowless room without them.  
  
"First mistake," he said, rolling off the far side of the bed as every light in the apartment flashed on, and the stereo powered on at top volume.  
  
He only had a few seconds -- this wasn't the first time he'd been shot with tranquillisers, not even the first time this year, and he knew he didn't have long -- and he meant to make the best of them. The overhead light exploded in a shower of glass, the blue bolt in the sudden darkness catching on the metal of the tranquilliser gun and the frame of the night vision goggles, tracing parts of the killer in a thin line of quickly-fading light. Langly could hear the man stagger, and he took advantage of that distraction to send a message to Reid and restore the video feed.  
  
It was the last thing he could remember doing.

* * *

' _Just lost contact with Frank_ ', the text from Hafidha read, and a split second later, a text from the man himself landed, reading only, ' _Now_ '.  
  
Reid was on his feet instantly, barely noticing the shift in the screen he'd been watching, as he grabbed his coat. "Go!"  
  
Lewis grabbed his shoulder and pressed him back into his seat. "Not you," she said, as JJ threw the doors open and Prentiss and Alvez leapt out after her.  
  
"Let go of me!" Reid howled, trying to get up, but Lewis kept his chair pushed in, standing right behind it. "That is my boyfriend! I have to be there! I promised!"  
  
"You can't be there, Reid. You know that. He's your boyfriend." Lewis sounded calm, sensible, even, as she reminded Reid of the regulations he'd violated just putting Langly in this position in the first place. "Emily's not going to let anything happen to him."  
  
A flash of white blinded the cameras in the bedroom, and Reid slammed both his knees trying to twist out of the chair and get up there. But, Lewis wouldn't let him go.  
  
"Hey, you remember when it was my wife?" Simmons asked, sympathetically. "I get it. I do."  
  
"No, Matt, you don't. You don't get it at all. Your wife _survived_. My girlfriend didn't." The panic had widened Reid's eyes in his bloodless face, and he turned a look that could've melted glass on Simmons. "I was wrong, and she died instead of me."  
  
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of Prentiss calling for a medic from inside the building. "Two down. Repeat: two down, and one of them is ours."  
  
This time when Reid threw himself against the back of the chair, Lewis stepped out of his way.

* * *

Langly woke up to the sound of Reid's voice, in the middle of another story he'd missed the beginning of. This was getting to be a thing -- not quite a thing, because two is still less than three, but Langly suspected he was seeing something that would become a pattern: waking up in hospital beds to the sound of Reid reciting his favourite Arthurian legends. Another few seconds and he started to recognise some other similarities to the last time, as he found the rest of his body, mostly intact and nowhere near where he'd left it.  
  
"Hey." He nudged Reid's forehead with the knuckles it was resting on. "Where the hell are we and how much trouble am I in?"  
  
"Idaho Falls. It's Friday morning." Reid didn't lift his head, just turned it to rest his cheek against Langly's hand. "I feel like we shouldn't make a habit of this, and yet..."  
  
"Two cases in a row." Langly rolled his eyes. "You been sitting there all night?"  
  
"Pretty much. I've had enough coffee I think my eyeballs are considering building the next ark. I don't know when the last cup was. At some point, JJ stopped bringing me more. I think she went back to the hotel."  
  
"Just you and me, huh?" Langly coughed and Reid finally sat up to pour him a glass of water.  
  
"Just us, in the sense that there's no one here we know and we're surrounded by medical personnel, so stop thinking it, it's a terrible idea, and I really don't want to deal with the paperwork or the embarrassment, thanks."  
  
Langly rolled his eyes as he poured the water down his throat. "Then you should go tell somebody I'm awake, so we can get the hell out of here. How's the other guy?"  
  
"Not doing as well as you are. He's got some electrical burns on his face and hands. The official report speculates that a powerful ambient static charge short-circuited the night-vision goggles, causing a discharge that leapt to several other metal objects in the room, including a few others on the man's body. The video -- and thank you for recovering that for us -- shows the lights in the whole apartment turning on at the same time, and a few seconds later, a surge in the bedroom that exploded the ceiling lamp and tripped the circuit breaker for the room. By that point, we know that you'd already been drugged. You tried to get up from the bed and fell, from the look of it. So, you were protected from most of the electricity, which is good, because about a minute later, there was another bolt from the damaged fixture." Reid looked as innocent as he was able, after the day he'd had. "The search of the scene is also on the video and nothing recovered from the apartment or either of you could have been used to cause that kind of electrical discharge. It's most likely going to go down as an accident."  
  
"At least until someone compares it to the accident with Helmsman's men."  
  
"That involved a taser and an electrical outlet." Reid shrugged eloquently. "Not much of a connection."  
  
"How much trouble am I going to be in? Seriously, though. Bullshit official reports aside..."  
  
"You're not," Reid promised. "Whatever happened in that room, that man was there to kill you. There's no question of that. He broke in through the kitchen window by lowering himself from the roof with a mechanical winch, which put him on the side of the building we weren't watching. He came in with a tranquilliser gun, night vision goggles, and zip ties, and then he shot you. I expect he meant to bind your hands, in case you woke up, and then smother you the same way as the others." He paused to swallow, hands clenched into fists in his lap. "Simmons called a few hours ago, to tell me that they found the generator and the collapsed star in the trunk of a stolen car parked behind the building. We think he was going to use the winch to lower the body to the car, and then use the remote to rewind it. There is absolutely no question who he is or why he was there, so anything that may have happened to him during the attempted  commission of a murder on the tail end of a series of murders? At the absolutely worst, self-defence. But, it's not going to come to that, because there is no way that electrical discharge could have been triggered with anything in that apartment, from the positions the two of you were in. Or at all, really. That should have required some fairly specialised equipment, and it's just not there. It's a regrettable accident that we're lucky our consultant wasn't seriously harmed by."  
  
Langly snorted. "Do we have any idea what the hell this guy was after? _Why_ he was killing people?"  
  
"He hasn't stayed awake long enough to be coherent, yet. He's expected to make a full recovery, but with the low-power lightning strike to the face, it's going to be a few days before he's in any condition to discuss it. Hopefully we'll be on a plane, by then." Reid sat up straighter, head tilting at the realisation. "Two planes. You're going back to Nebraska, aren't you?"  
  
"Don't you have like twelve years of vacation time you haven't taken? Run away to Nebraska with me, for a few days. I'll show you around the farm, where I grew up. You can misuse your badge to get the neighbours to tell you stories about what a godawful kid I was, and how glad they are I disappeared." Langly rolled his eyes and snorted. "I'll get you some of Aunt Ruthie's corn pudding. It's an experience you should have, while she's still alive."  
  
"Your Aunt Ruthie doesn't even know who you are," Reid reminded him, wondering what it would take to get another cup of coffee and whether it was too late for the caffeine to do any good. "I feel like it would be impolite to take advantage of the hospitality of someone I don't even know, someone who doesn't even know you're alive, nevermind in town."  
  
"She's Mary's mom, and Mary knows both of us, and Mary would be bringing us the leftovers from the casseroles her mother foists off on her every week. And if you're taking advantage of anyone's hospitality it's _mine._ In about..." Langly glanced around the room until he spotted the clock above the door, which he couldn't quite make out. He could still ping the computer at the nurses' station for the time, though, even if it did leave him dizzy. "... three hours ago, I made the first offer on the farm. If Ruthie and Joe accept it, I've just bought a vacation home in the Cornhole of America."  
  
"I thought you hated Nebraska," Reid teased.  
  
"It's not about Nebraska, it's about the money. If I'm going to be there asking questions that nobody wants answered, the least I can do is make sure my family is taken care of, even if I do think they're assholes." Langly swallowed and looked away. "And, if anything happens to me, I want to make sure you're taken care of, too."  
  
"I can take care of myself," Reid drawled, the number of times he'd had to say it plain in his voice. "And I thought you said your family was made of decent people who just ... weren't prepared for someone like you. Or, let's be fair, someone like me."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's when I thought I was actually related to them. How many years and nobody told me? And forget about me, because I ran away from home when I was seventeen. What about Mary? She doesn't know either!"  
  
"From what you've told me, they probably didn't know any more than you do. Your parents probably went to see a doctor for help having a baby, and then they had a baby. Why would they ever suspect something wasn't right? And practically? You are their child. They raised you. They cared about you, even if they didn't understand you." Reid sighed and curled his fingers around Langly's hand. "And this is the part where I'm supposed to say it doesn't matter who passed on your genes, but we both know that isn't true. Even if you weren't... what you are, from the perspective of heritable diseases and genetic defects--"  
  
"None of which are a problem for me, except the part where I can't see without my glasses." Langly looked around himself on the bed and the table beside it. "Where the hell _are_ my god damn glasses? I'm going to be pissed if I have to buy another pair of glasses, this year."  
  
Reid took his hand back and pulled Langly's glasses out of his jacket pocket. "They were found at the scene, probably right where you left them, next to the bed. After all the photos were taken, Lewis established they were yours and that you really can't see without them, and they were released from evidence. JJ brought them up to me with the fourth cup of coffee."  
  
Langly put his glasses on and looked around the room. "Yeah, very definitely a hospital room. Very definitely not what I was wearing the last time I was looking at myself. Very definitely the hottest fed the bureau has to offer, looking like he really needs a nap but is definitely still hot."  
  
"Am I still hot if I dripped snot all over your blanket?"  
  
"Are you _still sick_?"  
  
"Mostly no? I'm almost better. My sinuses are still not entirely happy with me, but I haven't woken up because I couldn't breathe since Tuesday night." Reid breathed a ghost of a laugh. "And I've stopped forgetting what I'm talking about in the middle of sentences. I'm mostly better, even if I'm almost entirely supported by caffeine and decongestants, at this point. Mostly caffeine. I think the decongestants wore off a couple of hours ago, but I haven't started sneezing again. I could probably use another cup of coffee, though."  
  
Langly eyed Reid, as if waiting for him to notice something. When no further comments were forthcoming, he rolled his eyes. "Page the nurse and find my pants. We're getting out of here. I need a cheeseburger and you need a nap, and then we need to figure out if you're coming to Nebraska with me."  
  
"I have to finish the case report. I'm going to be doing paperwork for days."  
  
"Pretty sure you can do paperwork anywhere you have a computer, and I can promise you one of those." Langly smiled, reaching out to tuck Reid's hair behind his ear. "Come on, I'll make you breakfast. And I'll be right where you can see me, so you can be sure I'm okay."  
  
Reid groaned and put his face in his hands. "Let me talk to Prentiss. Right now, let's just work on getting you out of here."


	25. Chapter 25

Chaz was certain he was going to lose his entire mind if he had to do this for another day.  He didn't just feel bad, he looked bad. Worse. He never looked good, but this wasn't just not good, this was -- he looked like a patient, not a janitor. It had to happen soon. He'd see something that mattered. But, he'd started to wonder if he'd be able to recognise it.  
  
He felt the hand before it touched his back, felt the consciousness behind it, and he leapt like a scalded cat, whirling on the figure behind him.  
  
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you." A young nurse offered him a smile. A _pretty_ , young nurse, if he was honest with himself, which he didn't particularly _want_ to be. She held up a cup of coffee and a candy bar. "Caramel latte and a Butterfinger, right? I try to remember the little things. Up here, it makes a difference, and you looked like you could use a smile. And a break. You really look like you should sit down for a couple of minutes. I'm a nurse. I know these things."  
  
"I'm... I..."  
  
"It's okay. I don't bite."  
  
Chaz finally managed half a laugh, a dazed and breathy sound of amusement. He could feel Hafidha's eyes on him, could feel her trying to figure out if she needed to come rescue him, again. He knew, after everything he'd been through, that he shouldn't do what he was about to do. But, really, if she poisoned him, he was already in a hospital and Hafs and Nikki were right down the hall.  
  
"Thank you," he said, with a sincerity that ran down to his bones, as he accepted what he'd been offered. He really did need to eat, but he hadn't wanted to go too far, in case he missed someone. Just a few more days. He'd been through worse. "Don't you have actual patients to check on?"  
  
"Nope. Not for another half hour. Not unless somebody pushes a call button." The nurse held an arm out to him. "Come on, let's get you sitting down. You're starting to wobble."  
  
And Chaz realised it was true. The dizziness had crept up on him, and he'd been trying too hard to ignore it. Sheepish, he put a hand on the nurse's arm and let her lead him to one of the visitor lounges. "I should know your name, but I'm struggling."  
  
"I'm Millie. Been working up here for three years, now. Nobody lasts, here. It's too much for most people. So, don't feel bad, when you ask to transfer back down to a less dramatic floor. At least Emergency lets people be heroes. There are no heroes, here. It's too late for that. Up here, it's all about keeping things quiet and comfortable, making people as happy as they can be." She smiled up at him. "What about you? What brings you up here? Fluke of scheduling?"  
  
"Something like that." Somehow he managed to fold himself into a chair, without spilling the coffee, which was quite a feat, given the oppressive air of the place and how spinny the room had gotten while he was trying not to look at it. Whoever painted this lounge had been aiming for bright and cheery, instead of soothing, and it looked like a cross between a pediatric waiting room and a carnival sideshow banner. He took a healthy swig of the coffee, feeling the sudden ache in his bones at the hint of caramel. He'd waited much too long. "I'd rather be spending Christmas week in Hawai'i with my sister's family, but work is what puts food on the table. Chaz, by the way." He pointed at himself with the hand holding the coffee as he tried to tear open the wrapper on the candy with his teeth.  
  
"Kind of a rakish name for a janitor, no?" Millie teased, eyeing the sweat along his hairline and the way his hands had taken on a faint tremor. "You just sit right here, Chaz. I'm going to be right back with some more food for you. Are you hypoglycaemic?"  
  
He shook his head and looked up at her now-somewhat distorted face. "Not usually. Metabolic disorder. It sneaks up on me. Thank you again, but you know what?" Holding the Butterfinger in his teeth, he fumbled his wallet out. "Order pizza. I can eat an extra large in one sitting, so... make sure you get enough for yourself, too. Least I can do."  
  
"Mmm, still getting you some juice, first. Please don't pass out, or we'll have to do this the hard way."  
  
Chaz offered an awkward smile and a thumbs up.

* * *

"I thought _York_ was small..." Reid stared out the window at the blink-and-miss-it village. It reminded him of some of the highway towns, but less public-facing. There were no hotels, no truck stops, and he'd be surprised if there were more than two restaurants -- probably a diner and maybe something German that was probably only open for dinner. And then they passed the bar, and Reid realised it probably counted. He'd have thought it was one of those towns where most local business was conducted in the bar, but they'd already passed the general store and, even in the snow, the old men smoking cigars out front.  
  
"York _is_ small." Langly rolled his eyes, slumped in the back seat, trying to avoid bringing too much attention to himself. "Welcome to Saltville, where the telephone was still a luxury, when I was growing up. Half the farms didn't have indoor plumbing, when I left. _We_ did, but that's because granddad had something to prove. Indoor plumbing and a telephone. A cellar you could hide a family cemetery in. But, we still had the well and the old pump outside. The water's still on the well, because there's no such thing as municipal water out here, so get used to things tasting a little weird."  
  
"It's not _that_ bad," Mary argued, shooting him a dirty look in the mirror.  
  
"Hey, _your_ house was built later. You grew up with _carpets_ ," Langly huffed.  
  
"So did you! Aunt Helen's has that carpet in the den!"  
  
"You mean the one that was put in when I was like _nine_? More than half my life in that house was wood floors and rugs that soaked up the wax. Step wrong and you'd go _flying_."  
  
Reid choked on a laugh and tried to pass it off as a cough. When he glanced over his shoulder, Langly was glaring at him. "Let's keep in mind that _my apartment_ is all wood floors and rugs."  
  
"Yes, but like a sane and reasonable person, you put _furniture_ on them and they stay where you put them." Langly huffed again, sitting up as they passed out of town and back onto the farm roads. "The runners in the downstairs hall were an obstacle course before breakfast. What the hell ever happened to those?"  
  
"Aunt Helen finally couldn't get the chicken shit out of them any more. Your dad sucked at wiping his boots when he came in."  
  
"Here, let me make that sentence shorter and more accurate: My dad sucked." Langly folded his arms and propped a foot on the back of the front armrest. "This whole goddamn family sucks. Except you. You're pretty cool."  
  
"I better be!" Mary laughed. "I wanted to be _you_ when I grew up!"  
  
"That's still pretty screwed up."  
  
Reid cleared his throat. "Excuse him. He had a rough night."  
  
"By 'rough night', he means I almost got murdered and woke up in the hospital."  
  
"What the _hell_ , Dick?" Mary actually looked over her shoulder at him, without slowing down in the least, and Reid could feel his stomach climb into his throat. No wonder Chaz liked her. "You fuck off for Christmas, and almost get killed? How is that a holiday weekend?"  
  
"Twenty years ago, that was really a pretty average holiday weekend... Except twenty years ago, it would have been somebody we actually pissed off, and not a serial killer."  
  
"A serial killer. A fucking--" Mary levelled a dead-eyed look at Reid. "Is he serious?"  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. And it was my fault."  
  
"Screw you!" Langly kicked the back of Reid's seat. "I volunteered!"  
  
"It was still my idea, not your job, and I shouldn't have let you go through with it."  
  
"You still didn't even know who the guy was, yesterday afternoon, and now he's arrested. Did you _want_ to wait until somebody else got dead?"  
  
"The next target would have been a _police officer_ , anyway! Training? Gun?"  
  
"The next target would have been dead! You know who would have been a better choice? Villette. But, you didn't have Villette, you had _me_. And I can promise you whatever that sonofabitch expected, it wasn't me."  
  
"So... how many stitches?" Mary asked, as another mile passed.  
  
" _None_." Langly rolled his eyes. "He shot me with a tranq gun, and then I scrambled his brains."  
  
Mary stared at him in the rearview mirror. "I thought you were the one who was shit at fights."  
  
"You remember the lamp?" Reid rubbed his face and looked out the window. "He can do that tactically."  
  
"There's a dirty limerick in there somewhere," Langly assured them both.  
  
"Tactical lightbulb explosions?" Mary looked unconvinced.  
  
"Static sparks on a much larger scale." Reid sighed.  
  
"I can shoot lightning out of my ass," Langly clarified. "Well, not my ass. Usually a light socket. Still."  
  
"I'm related to one of the X-Men. Still not over that, for the record."  
  
"One day, this, too, could be yours." Langly unlocked the door as Mary turned into the driveway of the farmhouse. "Assuming Villette's right, there's a pretty good chance you're just going to do something _weird_ , one of these days, and nobody's going to be able to explain it. The more stress you're under, the higher the chances."  
  
"In my time of need, I'm suddenly going to get super powers?" Mary snorted as she got out of the car. "Of course, given the last two months..."  
  
"Who the hell knows?" Langly stopped to wait for Reid, as Mary climbed the stairs. "Maybe that was the point of the experiment!"  
  
"Chaz says it's not genetic," Reid argued, letting Langly take his hand, with a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"Chaz _means_ they haven't found a genetic component, yet, and nobody knows what the hell this thing is, but even assuming he's right about the infection model, that doesn't actually make it any less likely."  
  
Byers met them at the door. "Dr Reid? This is... unexpected." He looked back and forth between Reid and Langly. "Is everything okay?"  
  
Mary squeezed past him into the house. "Apparently, Dick's been standing in front of serial killers."  
  
" _One_ serial killer, okay, and we caught him."  
  
Byers opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and turned a concerned look on Reid, as he stepped back to let them in. "Same question."  
  
"He'll live. I just..." Reid let Langly pull him into the house, so Byers could close the door. "I just need a couple of days."  
  
"Langly, stop scaring the hell out of your boyfriend." Frohike stood on the stairs.  
  
"No."  
  
Reid pulled Langly's hand and caught his other shoulder, looking him right in the eyes. "Langly, _stop scaring the hell out of your boyfriend_."  
  
Langly cleared his throat and looked away.  
  
Byers looked around, in the sudden stillness. "Coffee's in the kitchen, I'm cooking, and we _think_ we've found the name of the clinic."

* * *

"Just keep talking to me, okay, Chaz?" Millie still sounded just as cheerful and bubbly as she had twenty minutes ago, when she'd caught him in the hall, and he knew she was just trying to make sure he stayed conscious, which really wasn't a problem, but there was no way he could tell her that and have her believe him. "Why don't you tell me about your girlfriend?"  
  
"Because I don't have one." Hands shaking, Chaz poured himself another glass of juice. He'd be fine, he just had to _stop doing his job_ , until he actually got pizza in his mouth. Or, at least stop doing it in the way he'd intended. "I heard about those weird patient relative suicides. Seems like exactly the opposite of what you'd expect."  
  
"You'd be surprised how many people can't handle the idea of being the last one left. They'll refuse to sign a Do Not Resuscitate for a gunshot to the head, just so they can pretend a body decomposing while it's still got blood flowing through it is better than one decomposing in a coffin." Millie looked up, as if realising what she'd said. "Don't get me wrong -- there are people here who are very definitely still alive by all or even most definitions of the word, even people in comas. You know some of them can still hear what's going on. They just can't do anything about it. But, when you're talking about someone who has no higher brain function left -- and in some cases not much physical brain left... They're not coming back."  
  
Chaz could remember how close he'd come to dying. How many times he'd done something generally regarded as unutterably stupid, and less... walked away from it than had to be carried away from it. "You know, for those of us who still have brains, severe hypoglycaemia has similar symptoms to brain death."  
  
"Yes, which is why you're talking to me. If you stop talking, I grab one of the techs and we get you an IV and start pushing glucose." Millie smiled at him, clearly amused. "How're you feeling?"  
  
"Like an idiot."  
  
"I'd say that's pretty appropriate, right about now."  
  
"How could you tell?" Chaz asked, wondering what he hadn't noticed, because he'd been so focused on everyone else. "I was still standing up, coherent, moving without any difficulty..."  
  
"I didn't notice until you turned around. I just came over flirt." Millie laughed. "But, you turned around and your pupils were huge, and you didn't seem to be putting sentences together as quickly as I'd expect. It was either hypoglycaemia or a drug reaction and at your weight, one of those was much more likely."  
  
Chaz looked down at himself, critically, and then eyed Millie a little suspiciously. "Flirt. With the underweight janitor."  
  
"Hey, you've been here for a couple of days, now! I can tell you're polite and respectful!" She stopped and leaned in, studying his eyes. "Pupils are still huge. What colour are your eyes anyway? I can't tell."  
  
"You can't tell if they're brown or green, right?" With a small smile, Chaz pointed. "This one's brown, that one's green."  
  
"Heterochromia! Fancy! Do you have any idea why?"  
  
"There's a few options. I never wanted to know." Chaz held up his hand, looked at it, and poured more juice. "A friend recently asked if I was a chimera, which is ... really what I don't want to know. There's enough wrong with me. I don't need to go looking for more. I spend too much time in hospitals as it is."  
  
Millie laughed, and Chaz knew his pupils weren't going to get any smaller if she kept looking at him like that.   
  
Her pager and his phone went off at the same time.   
  
"Whoops! That's the pizza!" Millie got up and patted Chaz's shoulder. "You stay _right here_. I'll be back in a minute, and we'll get some real food into you."  
  
Chaz checked his messages. One from Lau: _Tell me you're all right, or we're coming down there_.  
  
' _Got dizzy. Stopped for lunch with a nice nurse who wants to make sure I'm not going to die._ ' He paused and sent another. ' _Her name's Millie, and she's the one at the desk picking up the pizza. Someone with a badge should be asking her questions about the relatives and how many of them were related to comatose patients. She'll remember, and she's got *opinions*._'


	26. Chapter 26

"Granddad paid for it," Mary said, looking at the trail of paperwork on the screen in front of her. "See, here's where he gave Uncle Pete the money, and almost the same amount goes out on this check to a place called 'The Family Way' in Lincoln." She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Langly. "It means we're probably not the only ones."  
  
"They're not still there." Byers looked up from his laptop. "The clinic closed down in eighty-seven, and the building is now occupied by a veterinarian. I don't know where we're going to find their records, if the records even still exist. Something like that, between sixty-six and eighty-seven? It would all have been paper. If they'd made it to the nineties, we might've gotten scans, but..."  
  
"The records were probably burned or shredded, when the clinic closed," Reid pointed out, from where he'd curled up in an armchair by the fire, with a very large mocha, an ancient down blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "Records disposal wasn't as big of a deal in the eighties, but there were still companies that did professional large-scale document disposal for large corporations and government offices. If you're trying to get rid of a secret, it'd be expensive, but the most efficient method."  
  
"The eighties?" Frohike snorted and put his feet on the tea table, only to have Langly smack the back of his head.  
  
"Take your shoes off, first. That's my mother's."  
  
Frohike rolled his eyes, but put his shoes under the table before he put his feet back up. "In the eighties, you're likely to still get doctors taking old patient files home with them. We're looking for either those doctors or their families. Someone may still be holding this stuff and have no idea what it is. We need names."  
  
"We're talking about a company that shut down thirty years ago and wasn't active by the commercial boom for the web. I'm not sure where we're going to _get_ that information, at this point." Byers rubbed one eye with the heel of his palm. "Public records should tell us a little bit -- the owners of the business, at least. We can probably track down their tax-- Oh. Right. Tax records." He watched Langly cross the room and curl up against Reid's legs. "You want to hit the IRS, or should I? I think your regex talents are still better than mine."  
  
"You want me to find all the tax returns that list this place as an employer. Twenty-one years? _Seriously_? I don't know how much of that's even been digitised." Langly groaned, pressing his face against Reid's thigh.  
  
"Data privacy's really a joke in this country, isn't it?" Mary raised her eyebrow at Byers, who shrugged.  
  
"Really, I'd like to say something reassuring about your cousin's skill level, but the short answer is 'yes'."  
  
"Just for that I'm not saving you any casserole, Byers," Langly muttered, already halfway into fishing for column and table names, to build the search string.  
  
"You're not cooking anyway." Byers shrugged again. "I'm cooking; you're eating."  
  
"Speaking of eating, would someone please get him something before he gets distracted?" Reid looked pleadingly at the three people on the couch. "It's not that I mind him passing out in my lap, so much as that I'd rather it be for _other_ reasons."

* * *

Chaz stood behind the glass, watching Crocker interview the nurse. Millie. Even as he scraped the surface of her thoughts, he tried not to think of her name. Tried not to think of her as a person. An attractive person. An attractive person who'd been hitting on him, which, apparently, was actually true.  
  
But, he'd had it out with Reid over Mary, and ... really, Spencer had been right. And he'd been willing to have that fight about Mary. Millie... could've been a pleasant distraction for a few days, but he didn't see it going anywhere that was worth risking his relationship -- whatever the fuck one would even call that relationship -- with Spencer over a fling with a flirty nurse, no matter how pretty. And that put a couple thoughts in his mind he wasn't sure he liked. First, that these were not the kind of things he tended to think while single -- and he had more than enough experience with what he was like single, and second, that just maybe his interest in Mary had been -- still was -- so strong because of Langly. And he'd blown that off when she'd accused him of it, but... Something about her had been not just attractive, but tempting. Compelling. Weirdly familiar. And he'd been willing to write that off as the fact that she had a similar sense of humour and good taste in music, but maybe it really was that she'd reminded him of her cousin, reminded him of how in love Spencer was with her cousin.  
  
Alternately, he was just still heartbroken and looking for absolutely anything else to blame, so he wouldn't have to think about it.  
  
Millie's voice brought him back from where he'd gotten lost in his own head. "Wait a minute. Martin Avery? He's-- Do you have a list of the dead relatives I could look at? I don't want to say something that puts you on the wrong track, but I think I see a pattern, and it's something you wouldn't have been able to find. It's _sort of_ public information, or it will be, once the patient dies, but not something you'd have thought to ask about."  
  
Crocker nodded thoughtfully at the younger woman and removed a page from the file in front of her, sliding it across the table. "Got a list right here. Names, ages, genders, dates of death -- there's nothing that links them except the fact they're all from out of town and they're all related to terminal patients at your hospital. If you see something else, I'd love to know."  
  
Millie studied the list. "It's when you said Martin Avery. I remember that guy. He was a real douche to everyone. I mean, it's terrible that he died! He didn't deserve that! But, he definitely deserved a fat lip. But, one of the things I remember-- here!" She tapped the date next to his name. "His wife has been non-responsive due to severe brain damage, since a car accident, last year. We have to resuscitate her maybe once a month, at this point, and she's never going to wake up. She doesn't have enough higher brain left to ever regain an awareness of her own body or anything outside of it. But, he's refused to sign a DNR order for her, and this is one of those places where a physician's order isn't enough. He's convinced there's going to be some kind of divine intervention. Was. Was convinced, I guess. But, if I'm not mistaken, right around this date, he finally signed the order, and we never saw him again. She finally died just a few days ago, and we're still waiting to see if anyone else is going to claim the body, but to hear Mr Avery talk, he was the only family she had. Maybe it's true -- nobody else ever came to see her."  
  
"So, you think ... he killed himself because he couldn't face that he'd finally signed the order? That he'd finally let go of his wife?" Crocker asked, trying to get a feel for where Millie was going with that.  
  
"I don't know. None of these people was the type to kill themselves -- almost all of them, the ones I knew, anyway, were super religious Christians. The 'suicide is a sin' crowd. Hell, the ' _death_ is a sin' crowd, really. Here, give me a pen and I'll mark what I know. But, every name I recognise on here? All the _patients_ lack higher brain function. And all these people have been really _really_ insistent that we keep them alive -- or ... something that passes for it. Except a lot of these names signed DNRs and then disappeared. Because they were dead, obviously, but we only knew about a few of them." Millie took the pen Crocker held out for her and started working her way down the list. "This is really weird, because these are exactly the people you'd think wouldn't sign a DNR or kill themselves, but they're all suicides?"  
  
"Well, that's the question." Crocker sat back in her chair, the plastic back creaking as she moved. "We're investigating because it's turning into a suspicious circumstance, and what you've just told me makes it even more suspicious. There's no signs that it's _murder_ , right now -- they all do seem to have actually killed _themselves_ \-- but we've been wondering about maybe some kind of suicide cult? You hear anything like that?"  
  
Millie shook her head. "There are people I'd have no problem believing that with, you know? You see them walking around, but it's like somebody's already turned out the lights. Or the ones who look like they'd sacrifice themselves to make their family member well again. Those are the people who'd get pulled into something like that, I think. Like I said, most of these people aren't the type to even accept a _natural_ death as anything but an insult or the devil's work. There's no way they'd get into something where they'd promise to kill themselves. But, I guess you never know what people are really like, huh?"  
  
And on some level, Chaz wished that were still true.  
  
"Can you check on the rest of the names?" Crocker asked. "I can make you a copy of that list to take with you, but if it's at all possible, I'd like to know when the orders were signed, whether everyone on the list signed one, whether the patients are still alive -- that's okay, right? I don't want to get you into trouble."  
  
"You probably want the witnesses, too. Just because of the potential for lawsuits, we require that a patient or the patient's next of kin fill out the paperwork and sign it with two witnesses, a member of the patient's care team and a patient rights representative. If the same witnesses show up on a few of these -- and they will, because there's only so many people working on our ward -- they might have some more insight into what was going on with these people." Millie offered a small smile. "Any other part of the charts or information about the patients' conditions, you'd have to get the thumbscrews, but you're not really asking about the patients. You're asking about the people around them, and some of those people are dying. How good of a nurse would I be, if I let people die of something relatively preventable, like murder?"  
  
He did like her, Chaz decided, and if she lived closer, he might even be willing to try. But, this would be long-distance, and he'd met her undercover, and neither of those things was a good start. Maybe he'd take some more time to himself, just not go back to the hospital, today. Hafs had already objected to the idea that he should be anywhere that didn't involve putting food in his face, today, after that minor miscalculation, yesterday. And he'd argued that he'd done very good work by completely failing to eat in a timely fashion, because now they had Millie. But, really, she was probably right. He needed lunch. He needed to clear his head. He needed Spencer, and frankly, that scared the shit out of him.

* * *

"Langly."  
  
"Hmm?" Langly didn't even blink, fingers still flicking through information only he could see, files piling up on Byers's computer.  
  
"You should take a break. You've been at this for nine hours." Reid ran his fingers through Langly's hair.  
  
"And I'm halfway through the list, so it's probably going to be nine more." Langly's voice had an edge he could almost have shaved with.  
  
"It's been thirty years since the clinic closed. Another few hours isn't going to make a difference, _now_."  
  
"Thirty- _one_ ," Langly corrected, petulantly, still working his way through the threads of an identity -- places, dates, payments. "What if it was you? What if you found out you were some freak of science, and someone out there might have an answer? You telling me _you'd_ stop?"  
  
"I'm telling you I'd at least get up to pee," Reid drawled. "Especially after that much coffee."  
  
"Trying not to think about that, thanks. Get me some more of that godawful orange stuff? Numbers are getting a little blurry." Langly's knees pressed closer together, even as his face remained blank, fingers still flicking through endless reams of things he didn't need -- same name, wrong person; right address, wrong date.  
  
Reid leaned down next to Langly's ear. "Have you ever been to the Hoover Dam?"  
  
Langly's eyes crossed and he managed a deep breath, before he scrambled awkwardly to his feet and staggered out of the room. "You're an ass! I just want you to know that!"  
  
"And in ten minutes, you'll thank me!" Reid called after him, wedging himself out of the chair he'd been sitting in sideways for the last three hours or so, and heading to the kitchen, to pull together the last leftovers from supper. The casserole -- a very Byers impression of an enchilada casserole -- was still in the oven on low, to keep it warm, and as Reid reached for it, he felt Chaz return to him. Perhaps less 'return' and more 'fall heavily against the door'. He braced himself against the edge of the stove, determined to finish putting food on the table, before he turned his attention to a problem that was likely going to absorb the rest of his evening.  
  
By the time Langly made it back from the bathroom, the parlour was still empty, the fire warming no one. Reid sat on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, with his knees pulled up and his arms folded across them.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"It's not me. It's Chaz. We're fine. I can handle this." Reid's eyes remained closed, but he gestured to the table. "You should eat something. We'll go to bed in a bit, all right?" He could hear the scrape of something on the table, and then Langly's body settled close against his side. "Food, Langly. You need to eat."  
  
"I'll eat! I'm just going to do it over here, where I can make sure you're still... I don't know. You. Breathing. The important things." There was the scrape of metal on porcelain, and the next words were muffled and onion-scented. "Tell Villette I'm here, if he needs anything."  
  
"You worry about you. I'll take care of this." Reid tipped his head against Langly's cheek. "I love you. No matter what you are, who you are is more important, and I don't mean your name. I love you." He said it again, the words somewhat more distracted, as he studied them, studied himself, _themself_. "That might be _we_ love you, but don't quote me. He's a little upset, right now."  
  
"Hey, as long as I can keep two of you happy, I think we're okay." Langly chewed, for a bit, both casserole and his thoughts. "I hope _he's_ okay."  
  
"He will be."


	27. Chapter 27

Chaz got the bed, that night. Hafidha insisted, and finally resorted to locking herself in the bathroom, until he gave up. Which wasn't to say she didn't half expect to get up in the morning and find him sleeping on the floor, just to be a stubborn shit about it.  
  
But, he'd pushed the bed all the way into the corner of the room and poured himself into it, looking for something to block out the noise in his head, the noise in the hotel. And when the bottom dropped out of his own mind, he just let himself fall, somewhat unsurprised to find Reid at the bottom, regarding him with no small amount of concern.  
  
And yet, he couldn't drag Spencer into this. However reassuring and calming he might find this juncture of the two of them, however much he enjoyed being nothing more than himself, he had to focus. He had to be sure he _remained_ nothing more than himself. There was no way to just let everything go -- it would be with him forever, just like always. Letting go of his control now would just inflict it all on Spencer. Which, really, was why he'd been so tightly locked down. It hadn't been so long -- not even a week -- but that distracted warmth, that absolute welcome, was like walking into a dream. And, technically, it was a dream, but it was a dream shaped by someone else, in which everything was solid and precise, but nothing was sharp. Whatever else might be going on at arm's length from him, Spencer was not upset. Distracted, concerned -- which meant it was probably something about Langly forgetting to eat or doing something outrageously illegal -- but not upset. Normal problems, as opposed to the flood of other people's pain Chaz had been drowning in since Wednesday. It was good. Normal, stupid shit was nearly relaxing, and the smell of Mexican food was enough to make him stop and consider whether he'd eaten recently enough. But, he'd spent most of the day doing almost nothing, and dinner had been heavy enough that he probably wasn't going to wake up to eat again in the middle of the night, like he'd been doing all week.  
  
And that got Spencer's attention, whatever he'd been talking about falling away in mid-sentence as the memory of it spilled through him, the hunger gnawing at his bones, as if it were his own. Chaz caught the memory, folded it up with an apology. But, Spencer's all-too-observant gaze was on him, now, instead of on whatever had been going on, outside of them. It was just the case, he insisted, just a difficult case that was kicking him in things he hadn't had to deal with in years. And that, he knew, Spencer would understand.  
  
But, the response wasn't the usual quiet support and understanding. Instead, he tasted fear. Images of a burned ceiling and burst light fixture, Langly being carried out by paramedics amid half-heard reassurances he was still alive, the waffle-pattern of a hospital blanket pressed into his cheek and the smell of disinfectant. And Chaz was struck with instant regret -- how could he have come to Spencer for help, in the middle of this? He should be offering, not asking, but he had almost nothing left to give. Still, he'd give it.  
  
Suddenly, he couldn't quite find the line between them, any more -- all the things he was trying to keep to himself were still wedged tightly behind him, in places he knew were his own, but he wasn't sure there was a distinction, any more, between the parts he and Spencer were willing to share. The uncertainty and determination could've belonged to either of them, probably belonged to both of them. The incredible warmth, sweet and disarming... he was an absolute fucking trainwreck, so that had to be Spencer. Or, he thought it was Spencer, but maybe it was just his own wishful thinking echoed back to both of them. He hadn't felt this safe in a whole lot of years, and he was sure he shouldn't be feeling it now, in a cheap and dingy hotel room, in the middle of a case that could still put him in Idlewood, if it didn't kill him.  
  
But, Spencer was still there, still part of him, still intertwined with him in ways he wasn't sure anyone else could ever be. And that should have freaked him out -- that _did_ freak him out -- but it felt like some ragged edge he'd been ignoring had been restored, which was bullshit, of course, but it still felt good.  
  
A nap. He could probably manage a nap, without inconveniencing Spencer too badly. They wouldn't both end up asleep, before he could extract himself. But, just for a little while, he wanted the kind of rest he wasn't going to get without Spencer watching over him. As long as one of them was awake, there would be no nightmares, between them.

* * *

Reid elbowed Langly, who was still curled up against his shoulder, working again. "Bed."  
  
"I'm in the middle of--"  
  
"Naked."  
  
"--absolutely nothing that can't wait until tomorrow." Langly cleared his throat and started disconnecting from things, saving markers for where he'd been and how far he'd gotten. "You, ah... you know how small my bed is, here, right?"  
  
"Pretty sure we've done this in more cramped places _in my apartment_." Reid brushed a kiss against the side of Langly's forehead.  
  
"And unless you want to hear about it from Frohike, in the morning, we should probably keep it quieter than usual."  
  
"Are you trying to discourage me? Langly, you can just tell me 'no'."  
  
"I'm not telling you 'no' until I mean 'no'," Langly scoffed, eyes finally focusing on the room. "I'm just trying to make sure you're prepared in advance for the situation at hand, since you passed out on the couch last night. And my bed's under a window, too, so... On the bright side, there's nothing but pasture land as far as the eye can see, out that window."  
  
"That couch was warm," Reid muttered. "And there was not enough coffee in the world for how tired I was."  
  
Something finally occurred to Langly. "You got up on Thursday. Did you even sleep before we got here?"  
  
"Maybe an hour and a half, while I was waiting for Prentiss to get back to me about going with you, instead of returning with the team. Kind of tired, by the time we got here, and then Byers cooked, and it was all over. I think my stomach cut off the blood flow to my brain, once I ate." Reid chuckled, sheepishly.  
  
"You sound like Villette." Langly offered a sidelong look and half a smile. "Speaking of Villette..."  
  
"He's sleeping. This case in Midland is really difficult for him in ways no case will ever be for me, and ... I hate to say it, but I'm grateful. I respect what he does, but I'm glad it's not me, and so is he. And I still feel guilty about that, but... I'm not like the two of you, and I probably never will be."  
  
"Good." Langly eased himself to his feet, holding on to the counter until he could feel his legs again, before he reached out to help Reid up. "You'll live longer."  
  
Reid came up fast and grabbed Langly by both shoulders. " _Don't say that_. Don't. I don't want to be the last one left, again."  
  
"Hey, come on, I'm not dead _yet_." Langly slid his arms around Reid's waist and pulled him close, one hand moving up to grip a shoulder, the other down to hold on to a hip. "You want me to show you how alive I am?"  
  
"Yes. I do."

* * *

The dream was Spencer's gift to him, and even asleep, Chaz knew it for what it was. He lay on an impossibly comfortable lawn chair, sunbathing on an empty beach. No one for miles. Just him, a cooler full of sandwiches, a bottomless Manhattan, and a cool breeze to keep the oppressive heat of the sun down to a bearable level. The waves were amazing, and he debated grabbing enough control to go surfing, but he wasn't ready to break the dream, if he failed. This was good enough. Out there, it was December, and nothing was ever warm enough. In here, he could almost complain about the heat. Almost. Maybe a half-assed grumble about sweating, while he basked like a lizard on a hot rock. Maybe when they finished this case, he'd steal Hafidha for a week, and they'd go see her parents. Not like they could go see his... Not that his had ever, as far as he'd determined, lived in Hawaii, either.  
  
But, he stretched, eyes closed, just enjoying the sun beating down against his skin. The light, the warmth, the... sudden shadow and weight across his hips.  
  
"You want me to show you how alive I am?"  
  
That was Langly, that was bleed-through, and Chaz couldn't bring himself to care. Hot hacker on the beach? That might even be an improvement, provided the beach didn't become too real. The last thing he needed was a dream about sand in uncomfortable places. That was the kind of mistake you only made _once_.  
  
"Yes. I do." He could feel Spencer's words fall off his lips as if they were his own, and he let that go, trying to figure out how many steps were between this conversation and all of them getting laid. Asleep, as he was, he had less access to certain parts of Spencer's mind. This part, though, was either intentional on Spencer's part or just that powerful a desire. Eventually, he'd care. Maybe he'd ask, along with all the other things he wasn't looking forward to asking.  
  
In the lee of his chair, a wall rose to shoulder-height, Langly's shadow painted across it, the light playing through his hair. Chaz studied the dream of a man in his lap, appreciating the clarity of Spencer's eye. This wasn't some subtly-improved version of Langly, without stubble or creases at the corners of his eyes, this was a near-perfect reproduction, and for a split second, he thought of Mary, before he buried that thought under his appreciation for exactly what he had. Oh, this could be so good, if Spencer was thinking the same thing he was, and he had no reason to doubt it.  
  
Langly stood up, pulling at his hand, and Chaz gave in with no resistance, following Langly to the wall -- which seemed to take much longer than it should have. Space and time were a little screwed up, but he was asleep, and he was pretty sure that was supposed to happen.  
  
"Tell me," he said, lips to Langly's ear, pressing him back against the cool stone of the wall, echoing Spencer's words until he could find his own. "Do you want my cock?"  
  
Everything flickered for a moment, as Spencer's shock flashed through him, horror, embarrassment. Whoops. Chaz hadn't thought he'd have that kind of leverage, from here.  
  
Langly's voice surrounded him, as if it came from no particular source, rather than the man pressed between him and the wall. "God, yes. Say it again. I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say that."  
  
Chaz could feel Spencer struggling, and he let himself follow along. "I'm-- That's not really-- You probably shouldn't get used to that from _me_."  
  
"Mmm." Langly sounded contemplative, his hands wandering their body, fingers lingering, teasing, caressing. "A little too much Villette, huh? Well, even if you can't say it--" The words were broken by a sudden kiss. "--you should give it to me, anyway. Bed doesn't matter, if we're standing up. You think you remember how to be quiet?"  
  
And Chaz wondered where they were, that 'quiet' was a concern. Langly's room was sound-proofed, last he'd checked. Couldn't be Spencer's, because he didn't _have_ a bed to mention. Hotel? Were they still in Idaho? He hadn't even thought to ask, which was something else to feel like a jackass about, when he could think past the absolute raging boner that seemed to be draining all the blood from his brain. Not usually a problem he had, but he was asleep, and the inability to focus on more than one thing at a time was _probably_ actually a side effect of that. And the fact he was sure Spencer was helping, for certain values of 'help'.  
  
Langly twisted around in the limited space between him and the wall, and suddenly, they were both wearing more, instead of less, and for a split second, Chaz was baffled by this turn of events, until he realised Langly's jeans were shoved down. Not quite the way he'd have expected this to go on a beach, but dreams were fluid like that. One of his own hands moved to open his? Spencer's? trousers. Both of them, at this point, he was pretty sure. Spencer didn't have the concentration to separate the dream from his complete occupation with Langly, and Chaz had no complaints he could name.  
  
First the condom, even in a dream -- absolutely Spencer's doing -- and then Langly pouring something slick across their fingers. He? Spencer? pressed those slick fingers into Langly, and the sound of whispered expletives wound around him.  
  
"Don't you dare wipe that hand on my shirt," Langly panted, his forehead resting on his forearm on the wall, which seemed to have gotten taller while Chaz wasn't looking.  
  
A house, he thought, from the look of the wall and the underlying scent of cedar, just now leaking in past the memory of tanning oil. They were in someone's house, and that made sense, but he couldn't remember why. Perils of being asleep. Perils of being pressed against Langly, who was making very quiet sounds of frustration and desperation.  
  
"Tell me." Spencer's words, his lips. And their fingers continued to tease.  
  
Langly started to sound like he'd jammed his wrist in his mouth, not to get too loud, and it was only sort of working. "I want you," he ground out as their fingers curled inside him. "I want you to fuck me like it's our last night on earth. And if you wipe that hand on any item of clothing that is not a sock, you will live to regret it."  
  
Spencer sighed, and Chaz felt it in his chest. "Langly, have I _ever_? Because I'm pretty sure that one time was _you_ , not _me_."  
  
"The important part of that was 'I want you'," Langly managed, and Chaz could feel the tension rippling through his body.  
  
"Do you?" Chaz felt their fingers flex in that way Spencer still understood better than he did. "Right here? Just like this?"  
  
"You are such a tease," Langly snapped, glaring over his shoulder at them, at Reid.  
  
"I am not," they argued, and Chaz thought the words might belong to both of them. "I always follow through."  
  
And Chaz leaned in, some perceptual glitch putting his hands in the right places, and shoved himself into Langly, slow and ceaseless, and he could feel the way Langly's legs flexed, the way Langly's panting had turned to gasps, the fingers digging into his left ass cheek, pulling him closer.  
  
"Miss me?" he asked, feeling Spencer's lips move with the words. They were echoes of each other, tonight, and he wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with that in the morning, but right now, he loved every second of it.  
  
Langly's response was incoherent, a hot, needy sound muffled against his wrist.   
  
Chaz could feel the ache in their chest, Spencer's absolute terror at the idea of losing Langly, at almost having lost Langly, _again_. There was an argument, there, involving the number of times Spencer had been shot, and Chaz added it to the list of things he'd care about _later_ , when his mouth wasn't full of the taste of Langly's sweat. And for a moment, that absolute devotion, that fear, that love was _his_.   
  
They pulled Langly closer, as his body tensed and clenched, against them, around them. "I love you," they said, as he spilled across their fingers, and guilt lanced through Chaz, the words heavy on his tongue. But, Langly didn't know he was there, didn't hear him. He couldn't take it back, for himself, without putting words that didn't belong in Spencer's mouth. It should've been weirder than it was, but it wasn't like Langly had ever objected to being shared, at least, to being pinned between them as the object of their all-consuming desire. Oh, he wanted Langly, he enjoyed Langly, but Spencer loved Langly, like a fire Chaz kept burning himself on.  
  
But, it was so warm, and he couldn't resist that flame.  
  
"Don't stop," Langly demanded, breathless and trembling against them. "Don't you dare stop."  
  
And Chaz relinquished what little control he had to Spencer. He was sleeping. This was all a dream. A very good, incredibly sexy dream that he had no doubt he'd wake up a mess from. And it had been a lot of years since he'd slept long enough or well enough for _that_.  
  
But, what he really wanted was to wake up tangled in his own sweat-soaked sheets, to the smell of hours-old clove smoke and expended lust, with dried spit on parts of his body he couldn't even see, next to a woman he wanted to spend the rest of his-- No. That wasn't right. That had always been right. Why wasn't that right? He couldn't find the other end of that thread, of that thought, but it didn't matter. Right then, nothing mattered outside the dream he was having. The dream that was having him.  
  
His fingers were numb. Their breath stuttered. Langly was making muffled sounds of encouragement, as they rutted into him again and again, hard and deep. It didn't matter whose cock that was, whose hand that was, they were a mind and a half and one body, and the taste of desire was hot in their mouth.  
  
"This is what I want." The words fell out of Chaz's mouth, unconsidered, as his spine stiffened and his toes curled, digging into the sand he still stood on for reasons that only made sense in dreams. "You. Just like this. I don't want to be alone, again."  
  
Horror and regret washed through him, as he panted against Langly's back, trying to fit the words to Spencer. But, they didn't go. He'd said it. He'd meant it. He just wished he knew what he meant. And that he'd kept it to himself, whatever it was. Then that would be something to apologise for, later. He'd blame it on the mind-blowing orgasm and the fact that he was, in fact, asleep at the time.  
  
Langly would think it was hilarious. Spencer would forgive him. Probably.


	28. Chapter 28

Rossi stepped into Prentiss's office and pulled the door shut behind him. "What happened?"  
  
"I just got the strangest call from OPR." Prentiss held up a finger and finished the piece of croissant she was eating.  
  
"Reid?" The dread settled quickly across Rossi's eyes, and he considered favours he could call in.  
  
"Yes, but it's almost good news?" Prentiss gestured to a chair and Rossi took it, knowing she meant this was going to take a while to explain. "Like I said, a very strange call. Narcisse put in a call to Charles Grafton, the OPR agent assigned to her case against Reid. I had it played back for me. She confesses to things we couldn't prove were her doing, like the call from the Governor's Office. She also confesses she went to Reid's apartment with the intention of killing Richard Langly, who was, obviously, already dead. Still, we have her confessing to breaking and entering, attempted murder, and a handful of other things of less immediate relevance."  
  
"That sounds like good news to me." Rossi leaned on the edge of the desk. "What's the catch, Emily?"  
  
"She says she called Grafton because he came to visit her. She says it to him right at the start of the call, and he goes along with it, but he makes clear in his report that he did no such thing."  
  
"So, she's lying. We know she does that. The question is why."  
  
"If only it were so simple. Footage from the prison shows Grafton conducting an interview with Narcisse. Video _and_ audio, which he specifically requested and took a copy of on a flash drive, when he left. He was definitely there."  
  
"That doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd forget. Did he have a lot of interviews that week? I mean, does this guy just need a vacation to clear his head, or do we have an actual problem?" Rossi thought about it for a second. "That's not even our problem. That's an OPR problem. He met with Narcisse. She called him back. The contents of the call apparently clear Reid of any wrongdoing, and her confession aligns almost perfectly with the charges against her. And now he's claiming he never met with her, in the face of video evidence? Is there any chance it's someone else on the video?"  
  
"I don't know, but, like you said, that's an OPR problem, not ours. There was a single female guard with her when she made the call, according to the folks downstairs, so even if it was someone else, that person doesn't appear to have forced the confession. It's possible that blackmail was involved, but given that we don't know who she is, _still_ , I'm somewhat doubtful that anyone else could connect her to anything that would motivate her to confess to attempted murder."  
  
"What about the _actual_ murder or murders?" Rossi asked. "There's Metcalfe, at least, and Reid's statement has her suggesting she's responsible for the deaths of a number of people who supposedly had relations or relationships with Belmont."  
  
Prentiss shook her head. "Nothing, yet, and that is a yet. She said Grafton was such a good listener, she was going to call him back."  
  
"What the _hell_?"

* * *

Reid found his phone on the windowsill his shoulder was wedged under, and managed not to drop it on Langly's head, bringing it to his ear. "Yeah?" He sounded exactly as unconscious as he'd been.  
  
"Are you actually sleeping?" Prentiss sounded equal parts surprised and amused.  
  
"I'm on holiday, in the middle of Nebraska. It doesn't really matter _what_ I'm doing."  
  
Langly woke with a small inquisitive sound, grumbling when he noticed the phone and pulling the blanket up over his head, which pulled it up off both their feet.  
  
Reid paused, waiting for Prentiss to say something else, but after a second, something occurred to him. "Did something happen? Do you need me back there? ... Is it my _mother_?"  
  
"No! Reid, everything's fine. I'm just waiting for you to wake up enough to have some insight into what I'm about to tell you, because Rossi and I can't figure it out."  
  
Groaning, Reid untangled himself from the blanket, Langly, and the edge of the window, to sit on the bottom edge of the bed. "Okay, what am I supposed to figure out?"  
  
"Good news first: Narcisse just confessed to at least some things. The investigation into _you_ is probably going to be dropped, soon."  
  
"It should have been dropped months ago. There's no evidence," Reid muttered, debating whether wearing pants was worth it. And then the rest of it caught up with him. "Why would she confess? Again, extremely limited evidence to link her directly to _anything_ , besides breaking into my apartment and trying to shoot Frank."  
  
Langly made an irritated sound from the other end of the bed and pulled a pillow over his head.  
  
"So, that's one question. The other one is why Grafton continues to deny having gone to see her, after specifically asking for the visit to be recorded, full audio and video, and then having taken a copy of that visit with him on a flash drive."  
  
"Wait, _what_?"  
  
"That's what _I_ said."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense." Reid leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he rubbed his eye against the heel of his hand. "Are you sure it's him, in the video?"  
  
"That seems to be the obvious question. It looks and sounds like him. If the video were shown in court, any jury would assume it was him. If he wasn't denying it, _after_ having watched the video, I wouldn't even give it another thought."  
  
"What purpose would anyone else have in looking like Grafton?" Reid asked, and then, "What purpose would anyone who looks enough like Grafton to make that work have in discussing me with Narcisse? I have friends, and I count you among them, but I don't think any of you would pass for Grafton on video, even with lifts and a wig. Brady, from down the hall, is as close as it gets, and he's ... you could fit _two_ of Grafton in one of his suits. It has to have been Grafton, but maybe there's a _reason_ he doesn't remember. It's too late to check for drugs, _now_ , I'm assuming."  
  
"You think he got roofied and forgot?" Prentiss's disbelief came through clearly.  
  
"Not really, but given the evidence, it's the best thing I've got, considering I've been awake for less than five minutes. You called me, so I doubt you've got anything more believable." Reid sighed, as something else occurred to him. "This isn't going to get in the way of closing the investigation, is it?"  
  
"I have no idea. I really don't think it will, especially if Narcisse follows up on her promise to call _back_."  
  
"And now I'm concerned this is the groundwork for something even worse. I don't know what, and I don't know how, but at this point, I'm just expecting it." Reid sat up straighter. "Has anyone spoken to her _lawyer_?"  
  
"I don't know that anyone would tell me, if that were the case," Prentiss admitted, after a moment. "It's still OPR's investigation. They just called to let me know that unless something entirely unexpected happens, you're probably in the clear. _And_ to ask if I knew anything about someone impersonating Agent Grafton."  
  
"I genuinely have no idea what to say about this, except that her lawyer is going to start causing problems any second, if that hasn't already started. I think it's vitally important that someone reach out to her counsel, before she starts claiming we're responsible for her failure to go through the proper channels, for whatever reason. Someone needs to go on record reminding her of her rights, before she tries to turn this around on us. On _me_." Reid rubbed his face, tiredly. He'd kept Langly up much too late, the night before. "There's no other reason I can even begin to imagine for something like this. She might not have managed to get herself out of trouble, but up to this point, she's done an incredible job dragging me down with her. I know you'd disagree, but I've... witnessed some things that didn't become public at the last second, because of last-minute fact-checking."  
  
"I'm pretty sure Bollinger's ruined what was left of his reputation, for whatever it's worth. This _should_ stop." Prentiss took a deep breath, before she went on. "Apparently something else happened, while we were in Idaho."  
  
"Go on." Reid could feel a calm settle over himself, the kind of calm he was renowned for and wished he'd never discovered the need for.  
  
"Garcia and Gates took care of it, but someone managed to steal your personnel file and release it to several news outlets."  
  
" _What?_ " That was not calm. That was anything but calm, and the bed squeaked behind Reid as Langly sat up, suddenly paying attention.  
  
"Reid, I promise you, it was taken care of before almost anyone but Bollinger actually opened the message, and he's been oddly quiet. Seems to have gone back to senators and prostitutes. There was something about the post office, but _nothing_ about you," Prentiss assured him. "And I really don't know why, but I'm not going to ask, because I don't want to give him a reason to start again."  
  
"I took care of it," Langly promised, quietly, dragging the blanket with him to wrap it around his and Reid's shoulders. "All of it."  
  
" _Almost?_ " Reid snapped. "How long before Mexico makes the front page? I'm not just some random agent, any more, Emily. Not after Helmsman. It _means something_ , now."  
  
"Not going to happen," Prentiss and Langly promised at the same time.  
  
"That Frank with you?" Prentiss asked.  
  
"Considering that's who I left Idaho with..."  
  
"Good. Stay put, Reid. No one knows where you are, except Garcia, but the important thing is that you're not _here_. There's no chance you're involved with Grafton's mysterious double, we all know you wouldn't have released your own personnel file, but things haven't quite settled out, yet, and I want to make sure you're nowhere near _anything_ until the investigation is actually dropped. I want to be sure no one can question your role in this, just in case it does turn nasty, and if you've been in Idaho and then Nebraska since this started, nobody's going to spend too much time trying." Prentiss swallowed a laugh. "So, you remember that vacation you keep trying to take? Now's a great time. Have fun. Don't come home until I call you."  
  
"I'll send you postcards from corn country," Reid drawled. "You're sure this is the best choice? That it wouldn't be better for me to go back right now, and face whatever inquiry might follow? I don't want to look like I'm hiding because I've _done something_."  
  
"You can't have done anything. You were in Idaho at the time. _With me_. Just stay where you are, for now, and remember to look surprised, when you come back."  
  
"Tell Garcia to keep an eye out for my mother, would you? That's the one thing in my personnel file that I'm actually concerned about -- she's my next of kin and all her contact information is there. I know I don't have to worry about anyone calling her, unless they can successfully pretend to be _me_ , but ... twice, Emily. My mother has become part of our cases _twice_ , and the last time, she was abducted. And I know that was from my apartment, which is very different, but ... just... If I have to stay in Nebraska, _you_ have to make sure nothing happens to my mother."  
  
"Call up to Boston and tell them to expect Alvez and his dog. Your mom likes dogs, right?"  
  
"... Make sure you brief him, before you send him. She's going to take him apart. Are you _sure_ you don't want to send Lewis?"  
  
"We can't afford Lewis, if you're in Nebraska."  
  
"Right. Right." Reid took a long, loud breath. "What about Rossi? Can you spare Rossi?"  
  
"I'd rather not, but unless we get something really unusual, probably. What's your aversion to Alvez?"  
  
"Alvez is accustomed to having a certain amount of control of a situation, and I don't think he could keep up with my mother at a holiday brunch, never mind while he's trying to look out for her safety. Lewis has the background to make my mother _comfortable_. Rossi... Rossi's been married how many times? I have _other_ concerns about putting Rossi in a room with my mother, but I have no doubt he can keep her as at ease and certain of her own control of the situation as anyone can. He's put a lot of years into that, and he's very good at it. If I had a sister in college, I'd be happy to give her to Alvez, but I really don't think he can handle my mother, and it's going to cause a lot of stress for both of them -- which she really can't afford."  
  
"That's a reason," Prentiss agreed. "All right. I'll talk to Rossi about it. We'll take care of things, here. You just stay out of trouble." A long, contemplative pause followed. "I'm serious, Reid. Keep your head down."  
  
"Emily, it's me. What am I going to do, write a scathing review of someone's dissertation?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe try to smuggle experimental alzheimer's drugs across the border? Sound familiar? Get abducted by some corn cult? These things just _happen to you_ , Spencer."  
  
Langly raised his voice. "I'll keep him out of trouble."  
  
Reid rolled his eyes. "I can take--"  
  
"I'm more worried about _him_ getting you into trouble."  
  
"We will be _fine_ , Emily. The most exciting thing for seventy miles in any direction is _cows_. I'm not going to get arrested or abducted by cows."  
  
" _With_ cows, not by cows." Langly shook his head. "And they're not really that into cows, which is probably the most reasonable thing about those assholes."  
  
Reid blinked slowly. "Anyway, call me when you want me back at work. I'll just be out here in corn country avoiding alien abductions, with the local livestock."  
  
"I can never tell when you're serious."  
  
"Good." Reid hung up and put the phone back on the windowsill. After a moment, he turned to Langly. "You didn't tell me?"  
  
"You were in the middle of a case and drowning in your own snot. The Black Queen, White Rabbit, and I solved the problem. I was going to tell you when you got home, and then I got tranq'd and blew up a room, instead. The more immediate problems had my attention. I was _going_ to tell you! I just didn't get there, yet."  
  
"On some level, I'm incredibly upset by this, but for the most part, I'm _more_ upset that I almost got you killed."  
  
"That wasn't even almost. What was that, a little ketamine? Please. I've had worse. And I kicked that guy's ass, too." Langly huffed, folding his arms, until the blanket started to slide back off his shoulders.  
  
"I shouldn't have even put you in that position in the first place!"  
  
Langly sat straighter, chin tucked down as he side-eyed Reid. "You know how you always complain about your team treating you like you're twelve?" He cleared his throat.  
  
"It's not the same thing! This is my job. I signed up for this. I volunteered. I get paid for it. This is what I want to do with my life." Reid's voice was just loud enough that Byers might have overheard, had he been standing just outside the door.   
  
"Okay." Langly drew the word out, waiting for the obvious to sink in. "Don't you have a photographic memory? You've read my file."  
  
"Eidetic," Reid corrected, absently. "You're trying to convince me that I should give you the same consideration I give my team, to trust that you've been doing this long enough that you can handle yourself, as long as you have backup."  
  
"That is exactly what I'm telling you. I've been doing more dangerous things than that since you were--" A pained look twisted Langly's face. "I'm not going to think about that. You joined the FBI around the time I met the shark virus. As long as you're sure you can get me back out, I'll walk into all kinds of inadvisable things. But, if it involves a skylight, you probably still want Frohike, not me. And I don't look nearly as respectable as Byers, even in a suit. I think he was born in a suit. But, if you just want bait that bites back? I'm it. And I bite a hell of a lot harder now than I did back then."  
  
"I worry about you because I love you, and that has never ended well for me." Reid snorted and shook his head. "It's ended even less well for at least one person I've dated."  
  
"And we've been through this. Literally this. Me getting shot at in your apartment? Kidnapped? Electronic death spiders? I'm pretty sure I've demonstrated that it's going to be a lot harder to kill _me_."  
  
"It only takes one bullet."  
  
"I could say the same thing to you."  
  
"I feel like saying it to Chaz might be more important, if less effective."  
  
"Okay, there's a point. I'm not _Villette_. You wouldn't catch me dead stepping off a cliff. Hell. No. I jumped off a building and that was bad enough. It wasn't even a tall building, but I'm not doing it again if I have any other option." A corner of Langly's mouth stretched in a not-quite suppressed smile. "See, I have a sense of self-preservation, unlike _some people_ we could name."  
  
"I just wish that involved a little less--" Reid stopped and blinked. "I'm going to stop talking before I commit myself to utter hypocrisy."  
  
"Well, if you're not talking..."  
  
"I swear to you, if you finish that sentence, I'm putting my pants on."  
  
Langly leaned back, sprawling across the bed and taking the blanket with him. "Sentence? What sentence?"


	29. Chapter 29

"I'm seeing a lot of people disappearing," Langly said, pointing at Byers with the corner of his sandwich. "These people worked for this company, the company shut down, and they don't show up later with taxable incomes, so either there was a settlement involved or these people aren't working for _other_ reasons. Some of them are dead, but we knew that. What's really interesting is how many of them died in the first six months, in _car accidents_. By which I mean I don't think we're getting those records. I think anyone who had them doesn't have them any more, because I really doubt they were buried with them."  
  
"Okay, so we've moved from unethical, but generally harmless, experiments done at a local fertility clinic -- one assumes people went there because they wanted children, and they got children they believed were their own, so _that's_ not the problem -- to the kind of experiments someone would kill to cover up. In a very public setting." Byers poured himself another cup of coffee and slid the pot down to Reid. "That's unusual. Most things we've seen that are that kind of secret aren't happening in storefronts in a reasonably-sized city. _Most_."  
  
"Why are you thinking traffic accidents are murder?" Reid asked, over his coffee. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but given the number of fatal traffic accidents in a year, what makes these stand out, besides ending in the deaths of people who worked together. Fatal traffic accidents in any group increase after one or more members of the group die, because grieving affects your reflexes as does the uptick in drinking."  
  
Langly held up a finger until he finished chewing. "Tox screens are normal procedure for car crashes, and if these people were on anything, it's not something that pops in the usual tests. The clinic only employed forty people, at any given time, including janitorial. A quarter of the people who worked there when it closed died in the first six months, in car accidents, and I've got _four_ that are brake failures. Another three were blown tires on I-80 that caused sudden swerving into oncoming traffic. Literally none of these were the driver's fault. _Every single one_ was something wrong with the car. 'Unavoidable malfunctions.' That sounds like murder to me. Limited set of victims, circumstances that aren't suspicious individually, but they sure as hell are with repetition."  
  
"I should call Garcia, and see if we ever looked into any of this. Probably _not_ , if only because the local police didn't suspect anything -- if they had, you'd have mentioned it -- but an investigation into the clinic might have triggered the closure, and subsequent ... cleanup." Reid reached for his phone, but Langly grabbed his hand.  
  
"Don't. I don't want to drag anybody else into this before we know what we're dealing with. And she's up to her neck covering _your_ ass, right now."  
  
"My ass doesn't need covering. What are you--"  
  
"Narcisse. Personnel files."  
  
"I thought you already fixed that."  
  
"I _did_. She's making sure it doesn't happen _again_." Langly squeezed Reid's hand and then let go. "If we need to know what the FBI has, that's easy enough to find out. Well. Probably. You're getting into that period where things might not be digitised yet, depending on how important somebody thought they were, but if I can put my hands on JFK's coffee-stained waffle recipe, I'm pretty sure we can dig this up, if it exists. Or at least a reference to it -- not everything's digitised, but the _indexes_ are."  
  
In that moment, Reid realised, once again, that one of these days, he was going to end up in a lot of trouble, because of this relationship. One of these days -- as if a woman with a gun in his apartment didn't count as trouble. "You're a consultant. I'm just going to assume you have permission to go fishing like this."  
  
"I _mostly_ do. Penny knows I'm not going to do anything fucked up, and if I did, I have no doubt Hafs would do things to me and my systems that I'd rather not consider the recovery procedures for." Langly raised an eyebrow at Reid. "And you say this now, and not about the IRS or the total invasion of several newspapers' systems..."  
  
"Hey, I have to say it, periodically. Didn't I tell you not to let me watch you do anything illegal?"  
  
"He's right, you know." Frohike came through the kitchen and went straight to the sink to wash something off his hands. "You remember how Mulder used to get. We could do whatever we needed to, but most of the time, he couldn't know _how_ , just that we had what he was looking for."  
  
Langly took a long look at Frohike. "Where the hell have _you_ been?"  
  
"Taking a look around the rest of the property. There's something up with that barn. It's the wrong size."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about? One of us grew up on a farm, Frohike, and it wasn't you." Langly paused, blinking. "No, you know what? I don't care what you're talking about. Car wreck murders. Human experimentation. On my _mother_."  
  
"Ten people dead in the first six months, but what about the other thirty?" Reid asked, as Langly got them back on topic. Still, he shot a meaningful look at Frohike. 'Wrong size'? He had a feeling Frohike didn't mean the barn wouldn't hold the number of cows listed in the property specs.  
  
"There's six where I can't find death records _or_ any further employment. They disappeared, and my money's on them leaving the country, but I haven't checked yet. If they did, they probably didn't do it under their own names, so that's pretty likely to be a dead end."  
  
"Give me those, and I'll look," Byers offered, from across the table.  
  
Langly made what looked like a dismissive gesture toward Byers's laptop. "So, that's sixteen people, and then there's another eight who died of natural causes, probably because they were old, because there's no real patterns there, except for age, so twenty-four. And the other sixteen include the janitorial and clerical staff -- people who wouldn't have known what they were looking at if they walked right into it, plus a couple of candy stripers, who probably didn't handle anything more exciting than patient comfort and transport. Because if they had, they'd be dead."  
  
"So, who died and disappeared?" Reid asked, sipping his coffee and wishing for a more comfortable chair. "By profession."  
  
"Doctors, mostly. The clinic administrator, four lab techs, but the rest of them were doctors -- all gynecologists and surgeons, from the look of it, which isn't surprising given the kind of place it was."  
  
"Byers? Addresses for the living candy stripers. Particularly any with degrees in science or medicine." Reid smiled grimly. "Four lab techs isn't enough if they were doing the kind of work we think they were, so unless the disappearances or natural deaths are inordinately lab techs, someone missed some people in the cleanup, and I think I may know why."  
  
Frohike snapped and pointed at Reid's back. comprehension dawning on his face. "Trainees. You think there were people learning to work in the lab who were still being paid the lower wage, because they weren't qualified, yet."  
  
"And they likely know how lucky they are, too. Although, one of them may have been the cause for the sudden dismantling of the operation." Reid tipped his head back, eyes closed, putting what they had in some speculative order.  
  
"Loose lips sink ships," Langly muttered, still flipping through the FBI's index for cases set in Nebraska in the eighties.  
  
"You think one of the trainees panicked when they figured out what was going on in the lab, and... called somebody about it?" Byers sat back, rubbing his beard. "Okay, but who would you go to? That seems more of a state medical board complaint than an FBI complaint."  
  
"It's a place to start." Frohike went to get his laptop from where he'd left it in the dining room.

* * *

Chaz kept his head down, sweeping, mopping, changing the occasional sharps bin. It was a very different experience, being on this side of all the tubes and wires, and that was finally starting to settle in. Most people just ignored him. Aside from being the tallest thing in the room, he just wasn't that interesting, and that was the reason for the mop bucket. Nobody looked twice.  
  
He ducked into a room with what looked like a sleeping patient and pulled the bag from the trash bin, tying it as he re-crossed the room.  
  
"You're no janitor," the old man in the bed said in a surprisingly strong, if raspy, voice.  
  
"Pretty sure I am!" Chaz held up the trash bag and smiled awkwardly.  
  
The old man laughed, coughed, and shook his head. "I know an undercover cop, when I see one." He held out the hand with less wires connected to it. "Harlan Greenberg. I spent forty years in Vice. Hadda retire last year when it all caught up with me. So don't bullshit me, son. I know what I see. It's you and those two pretty girls that read to the coma patients. Whyn't you pull up that chair and tell me what you're doing here, and I'll see if I can help you out. I see everything -- it's that damned glass wall."  
  
Chaz blinked at the guy for a few seconds, as he shook his fragile-feeling hand, trying to scrape as much of a clue as he could, before he said anything at all.   
  
 _Emphysema. Stage-four bone cancer. Hospice care only. Captain Greenberg's office in the old building that was now an elementary school. Drug dealers. Prostitutes. Opiates. Smuggling opiates out of hospitals. There had been a bust, a few years back, that had involved several nurses and one doctor from a different hospital selling drugs on the side, because in their opinion, it was better the addicts at least have proper, clean pharmaceuticals that would do less damage going in. This had to be another drug case. Either that or an angel of mercy, and if it was that, it wasn't like anyone would notice, around here._  
  
But, there was no sign that Greenberg was hiding anything, no sense that he was certain of what potential crime was being investigated, no sense that he had concerns about his own involvement in anything recent enough to matter.  
  
Chaz slid the door shut, as soon as he was sure no one was looking, and pulled the chair over to the side of the bed away from the observation wall, keeping back just far enough to be mostly concealed by the curtain at most angles that counted. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Greenberg."  
  
"You've heard of me?" Greenberg asked, squinting at Chaz. "Didn't say I was a captain."  
  
"You're good enough to know I'm undercover. I'm good enough to know you were a captain." Chaz tipped his head and shrugged. "If you were going to guess, what do you think I'm here investigating? I'm sure you've seen some things, Captain."  
  
"It's a hospital, so there's usually only two or three things you'd be doing undercover in a hospital, and it's nothing about stolen babies, because this is the wrong end of the building for that. So, you're either after drug thefts or an angel of mercy killer. And I'll tell you the truth: drug thefts on this ward? Nobody would notice. We're all on comfort doses, because we're dying and only assholes worry about addiction when you're dying." Greenberg managed a tired smile. "Fired my oncologist when he said I had three months to live and I wasn't getting any morphine. Fuck him. I'll die in peace."  
  
"You seem pretty coherent for someone on large doses of morphine."  
  
"It's a talent." Greenberg coughed and pressed a couple of buttons, raising the bed a little further. "So, what are you here for?"  
  
"Got a weird one, Captain. Someone's killing the _relatives_ of patients with severe brain damage who refused to sign DNRs for them, except only after those people do finally sign off. And they're all staged to look like suicides." Chaz stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. Hospital chairs were made for people eight or ten inches shorter than him and they weren't even comfortable for those people.  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"You talked to that nice nurse, Millie, right? I don't think she'd ever kill anyone, but she's a real right to die believer. I like her. Almost everyone working here is pretty solidly in favour of a patient's right to die -- it's a hospice ward. We're all dying, and about seventy percent of us that are still conscious would like to stay that way, when we get there. We're here because it's more comfortable than suffering at home. Don't have to worry about waking someone up or not getting things we need, you know?" Greenberg shrugged but only one shoulder finished the motion. "But, you really want to look at a very small number people I'm pretty sure could make something like this happen, at least on the paperwork end -- you need somebody who can file a pre-dated DNR with all the right signatures on it after the murder."  
  
"You think the DNRs were faked? I mean, it would make sense. We've talked to Millie and she was surprised about how many of the victims she hadn't expected to sign one, but they had. We've got someone talking to the doctors and patient representatives who signed off on those. If you're right, there's either a conspiracy or somebody's not going to remember having signed them." Chaz kept sifting through Greenberg's mind. Just one person, after the rest of the week, was like taking a break. Still, what he found was a decently-engaged cop pleased to have a case, again. Greenberg had no idea this had been going on, and there was no way he was involved. He wasn't holding enough of the pieces.  
  
"Keep in mind, young man -- and what is your name, anyway? -- this is common enough that these people may not remember each individual form. What you're looking for is at least one they're absolutely _sure_ they didn't sign."  
  
"I'll leave a message for our lead," Chaz said, taking out his phone to text Crocker. "And you can just call me Chaz. Millie does."  
  
Greenberg laughed until he coughed, which didn't take long. "That girl's really something ain't she?"  
  
"Definitely... _something_ ," Chaz agreed, looking up from the screen. "I should probably leave you in peace, Captain. Unless you want to tell stories of your old cases to someone who hasn't heard them before... I came straight into Homicide, but the stories out of Vice always seemed _much_ more weird." It wasn't quite the truth, but if the old man started telling stories about _him_ , anyone who heard would be looking for a homicide detective, not an FBI agent. Seemed important to at least _pretend_ to cover his ass.  
  
"A young detective who wants to hear _my_ stories? You kids get smarter every day." Greenberg coughed through his smile, reaching for a dial with one hand and his water with the other. "We're in a hospital. I'll tell you one of the hospital ones. Back in the eighties, we had this nurse who was stealing babies, but only from prostitutes..."


	30. Chapter 30

"Why do you care about this barn, Reid?" Langly rolled his eyes again, as he followed Reid through the snow. "It's just a barn. It is a boring-ass dairy barn in the middle of boring-ass Nebraska."  
  
"I grew up in the city. There's no such thing as 'just' a barn." Reid turned around and shrugged, walking backwards. "It's a symbol of the kind of youthful recklessness that nobody I knew actually indulged in, but everyone had heard a story about somebody else's third cousin who lived on a farm or visited somebody on a farm. Me? I don't even like farms that much, and I think you know why. But, this is a farm that, as far as I know, in no way relates to a serial killer, so I'm a little more open to exploring it for my own education and entertainment."  
  
"Yeah, no serial killers, just human experimentation, apparently," Langly muttered, wondering what remnants of his childhood might yet remain in the barn. Not a lot, probably. He was pretty sure his dad would've thrown every trace of him out, once he left, and there wasn't much of him in the barn, anyway.  
  
"You know what else isn't in the barn?" Reid smiled slyly.  
  
"Cows?"  
  
"Byers and Frohike."  
  
Langly stopped, snow halfway up to his knees. "That's a horrible idea. That's a horrible idea, and I'm probably going to let you talk me into it anyway. Just not on straw. I don't care how comfortable that looks, you're wrong."  
  
"Sounds like the voice of experience." Reid raised his eyebrows and backed directly into the corner of the barn, staggering a bit as the snow resisted his attempts to stay upright.  
  
"Straw bales make great chairs right up until you're wearing shorts."  
  
" _You?_ In shorts?"   
  
"If I tell you I was nine, does it help with that?" Again, the eye-roll. "And if there's any straw left in there, it's probably mouldy, anyway, so don't touch it."  
  
"I really hadn't considered straw," Reid admitted, trying to figure out where the door was. "I was thinking more along the lines of the walls, or maybe draping my coat over something. I really hadn't thought much further than that the barn was probably at least partially heated and it was a structure other than the house, so there would be less concern of us being overheard."  
  
Langly found the door easily and kicked it in three places, before he slid it open, obviously far more easily than he'd anticipated. "Huh. Guess they got that fixed, after I left. It used to stick like a bastard."  
  
"I'm also interested in Frohike's thoughts on there being something amiss with the size of the structure..." With a contemplative sound, Reid looked up at the door track. "How long should a door work that smoothly after maintenance?"  
  
"Years. Especially if nobody's using it." Langly pointed to a spot over Reid's head. "Look, you can see where the grease hasn't worn off yet, but it's not, you know, globby enough to be fresh. Hi, I used to grease the barn door, can you tell? It was worse when the track still had that ding in it, but it looks like replacing it means it's not stripping the grease out and pouring it down the back of the door any more."  
  
Reid made a sound that suggested he remained unconvinced. "Do we have lights in here? I feel like we should at least take a look, before we turn them off and proceed to more enjoyable things. I'd hate to step on a nail."  
  
"We should..." Langly closed his eyes against the light streaming in from behind him and let his memory guide him to the switches just beside the door. Each one clicked loudly as he flipped it, illuminating the whole of the barn, one section at a time.  
  
"That wall is--"  
  
"Storage. The back of the barn's cut off for storage, which is _probably_ what Frohike didn't get." Langly shrugged. "It's a barn. It's not that exciting. This was never a _major_ commercial farm, so it's not all industrial and shit in here. Cows go out during the day, cows come in at midday and at night. There's not a lot of predators, but cow tipping got popular again, when I was a kid, so we'd bring the herd in unless it was really hot. Which reminds me, there's no heat in here. It's a dairy barn. It's supposed to have cows in it. You don't need heat if you have cows. Bet there's a portable heater in the back somewhere, though. I think dad used to keep one in the office, for when the cows were out and he was trying to work. But, ah... we should... bring that out from the office, because jizzing on my dad's desk just feels creepy."  
  
Reid covered a smile and ducked his head. "I can see where it would be, yes."  
  
"Being in this _barn_ is creepy," Langly huffed, after a few moments looking around. "Even without the cows." He looked a little weak-kneed, as he took a few steps in and slid the door shut behind them. Keeping the wind out would help, if nothing else. But, the barn looked like some post-apocalyptic nightmare version of his childhood memories. Rusted metal and greyed wood. It looked like most of the milking equipment had gotten sold off when the farm shut down, and all that remained were the scars on the floor and the mounts for the snap-in guides that kept the cows going in the right direction. "I used to plug my computer in over here, when my dad made me come down to the barn with him. Which is what the hell I was doing sitting on straw. 'Don't touch the cows, boy. Just watch what I'm doing. You'll have to do it when you're older.' Hell no, I won't. I'm a goddamn legendary hacker. I don't need _cows_."  
  
"The last time I was in a barn, it was much creepier, but this is still a lot colder than I was expecting," Reid admitted, edging closer to Langly and wrapping an arm around him. For warmth, of course. And that made him think of the night he'd spent snowed into a cabin with Chaz, while an anomalous serial killer waited for them to die. Maybe he should just stop thinking of things that weren't Langly.  
  
"Let me guess, the last time you were in a barn, there was a serial killer involved."  
  
"Well, yes? Being that I pursue and arrest serial killers, and that's the majority of travel I do in a year, and that we don't live near any barns, I'd say that was an obvious assumption."  
  
Langly tipped his head back and forth in wholly unimpressed agreement. "I'm getting the heater and we're plugging it in right there, because I know there's an outlet there."

* * *

Chaz, of course, wasn't allowed to sit in on Crocker's interviews. As far as anyone being questioned knew, the FBI wasn't involved at all. But, he spent way too long lingering in the hallway outside the room she was interviewing hospital staff in. Sweep it one way, sweep it the other way, slowly mop and put up those annoying warning signs that served as nothing but a tripping hazard. If he really dragged his ass, he could do this all day.  
  
But, no one had even raised his eyebrows yet, on their way in or out. Doctors, nurses, patient reps -- everyone seemed confused, maybe dismayed, but neither excited nor guilty. Nobody seemed to have that extra awareness of what was going on. And no one seemed to give him that crawling sensation in the back of his head that he got sometimes around... he didn't want to call them his own kind, but they were. They were what he'd become, one day. There were no stories with happy endings, yet, and he really didn't expect to be the first.  
  
Still, he kept whistling as he mopped, keeping time as he moved back down the hall. And when had he started whistling? Was it before that last nurse came in? Must've been, because he'd had to stop to return her hello. And he knew this song, but he couldn't name it. Didn't know it well, probably hadn't heard it since he left Vegas. What the hell was it, and why was it stuck in his head now?

* * *

"Tell me," Reid breathed against the back of Langly's neck, pinning him against the wall of the barn with one hard thrust after another, the warmth from the electric heater slowly swirling around their legs. Langly had been right, the barn was cold, but between the small pocket of warmth generated by the heater and the heat between them, it wasn't too bad. It definitely wasn't as bad as New Hampshire. With the lights back off, the only light they had was the red glow of the heater, and Reid thought it added to the ambiance, in some way he hadn't yet managed to connect to anything just yet, probably because he wasn't thinking about it.  
  
"I want you. _God_ , I want you. In my entire life, I have never wanted another human being the way I want you right now."  
  
"I'm pretty sure you have both wanted and _had_ other people pretty much like this, multiple times," Reid teased, breathlessly.  
  
Langly made a sound that might've been a laugh, if his breathing wasn't wholly subject to the rhythm of Reid's thrusts. "Don't even bring Kimmy into this."  
  
"Kimmy? Oh, no, I meant _Chaz_." Reid nipped at the edge of Langly's ear. "Watching the two of you against the wall by the bathroom door, with the sun setting across you. Watching him take you just the way I wanted you, and knowing the view was much better from the couch. Do you know how incredible you look, with your back bowed and your legs tensed, begging for what we already want to give you? I can't wait to see how you look in the sunset on our bed. And I do want to see you. _Oh, ffff_ \-- I want to see all of you, when you tell me what you want, and then I want to give it to you, every inch, every touch, every kiss."  
  
"Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Oh, _Reid_!" Langly tensed, feeling a splinter bite into the side of his hand as his body stopped paying attention to anything he actually wanted it to do, like _not that_. "Harder. _Harder_! Don't you dare fucking stop!"  
  
As Langly screamed for more -- demanding, commanding, unrelenting -- the barn door slid open just a crack, just wide enough for a person to get through, and Langly's focus shifted instantly.  
  
"Not a good time, Frohike!" he shouted down the length of the barn, irritation clearer in his cracked voice than he'd feared.  
  
The door slid shut, again, and for a moment, there was nothing to be heard above the sound of desperate panting and the collision of barely-exposed flesh. And then a voice rang out from behind them, challenging.  
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing in _our_ barn, faggots?"  
  
Definitely not Frohike. A younger voice. Teenage boys, probably.  
  
Langly moved like he'd spent years training for that moment -- a swift turn, easily shifting his weight to bring Reid around with him, _behind_ him. He vaguely remembered something Chaz had said about gammas being stronger and faster, but it hadn't made sense to him, until that moment. "One, I'm bisexual. Two, what the hell does it _look_ like we're doing, smartass?"  
  
Reid took the few seconds Langly's outburst offered to close his pants and point to the FBI logo on his coat. "Three, that's Supervisory Special Agent _Doctor_ Faggot, thank you."  
  
"And four, what the hell do you mean _your_ barn?" Langly's jeans still hung loosely, way below where they should have, but that was why he'd always liked long shirts.  
  
"Oh, you think this place is just abandoned, don't you? You think nobody lives here so you can come do whatever you want, right?" The apparent leader of the group strutted back and forth in the dim glow from the space heater. "Well, you're wrong. Because this is _our_ barn."  
  
Reid cleared his throat. "You might try saying that to someone who's not the property owner."  
  
"And you might try not trying to bullshit me. The owner is dead. It's ours, now. And you can get a jacket like that on the internet. Everybody knows faggots can't be feds."  
  
"McCarthy's dead and buried," Langly scoffed, winding up to bend the truth just enough. "We're feds, we're married, and that's my house. Which means you're trespassing."  
  
"In fact, that means you're under arrest for trespassing and possibly also voyeurism and breaking and entering, depending on how the law reads in Nebraska. I'm afraid that's not one of the statutes I familiarised myself with before my last case here." Reid stepped out from behind Langly, putting just enough space between them that they wouldn't be the same target. Three teenage boys were dangerous, but less dangerous than three teenage _girls_. He almost wished he'd turned around into a mob enforcer. At least professional killers were usually _reasonable_.  
  
"Wait a god damn minute." Langly squinted at the boys, pointing to each in turn. "Eastman, Halverson, and Sjoberg. I knew your parents."  
  
"Pssh." The kid on the left -- Halverson, Langly thought -- rolled his eyes. "He's not _Sjoberg_."  
  
"The _hell_ he's not. Might not be his name, because I'm talking about his _mother_ , but that's Lorna Sjoberg's sprog. I'd know that face anywhere." Langly's smile was grim, but triumphant. "How about I just call your parents and tell them you've been trespassing?"  
  
Eastman lunged at Reid, fist drawn back. "How about I just beat your faggot asses?"  
  
Reid barely moved, squarely landing the heel of his hand against the boy's forehead long before the fist got near him. "That's not a good idea. It's not just assaulting a federal agent, which is fairly serious, but I'm taller than you, which means _my arms are longer_."  
  
Eastman staggered back, almost falling twice before presumably-Sjoberg caught him. "You're a dead man."  
  
"No, that's me," Langly drawled. "Get the hell off my property, before I call the sheriff _and_ your parents. Whoops, slipped and hit my bluetooth. Hello, this is Frank Arroway up at the old Langly farm? I've got three teenagers who just broke into my barn and assaulted my friend. I don't know their names, but I'm pretty sure I know their family's faces -- I've got an Eastman, a Halverson, and ... whoever Lorna Sjoberg married, he's _gotta_ be their son. And it sounds like this isn't the first time-- _Hey_!"  
  
Halverson took a swing at Langly, who wasn't standing quite where that swing was aimed. "He's lying! There's nothing in his ear!"  
  
"He went to school with my mom," probably-Sjoberg protested. "We are. In. Trouble."  
  
"Arroway? He's got no family here!" Eastman wobbled like he might have a concussion, but was doing his best to ignore it. "He's just some creepo lying rave promoter or something! And he's trespassing on our barn!"  
  
"Yeah, you can hear them, right? We told them to leave. Two of them already tried to kick the crap out of us, but they've got the aim of drunk locusts in a frying pan. You should get somebody out here, because I really don't want to get forced into this fight and _win_. I'm not going to feel good about knocking the piss out of a couple of high school students, but if they don't stop trying, I'm going to stop having a choice." As Halverson moved in to take another swing, Langly closed his eyes and reached behind himself for the cord for the heater. With a sudden pop every light in the barn came on and then flicked back off, blinding everyone who didn't see that coming.  
  
Reid, of course, had known what it meant as soon as he saw Langly reach for the cord, and he was already on his knees feeling for Langly's feet, when the lights went back off. "Again," he said, untying both shoes and pulling at the laces.  
  
The lights flashed again, as Langly kept explaining the situation to the poor night dispatcher, who was still trying to raise a deputy. Nothing, after all, ever happened in Saltville, and finally she called the fire department, instead.  
  
The three boys stumbled around in confusion, eyes covered, and when Reid got up, he grabbed the closest one -- Halverson, who'd gone after Langly -- and easily pulled the boy's arms back, binding him to the corner post of a stall with one shoelace. It wasn't going to hold for long, but it would buy them some time. Another flash of the lights, and he went for Eastman, pulling him away from Sjoberg, as he ran past, and going for one of the central supports of the barn, this time.  
  
"C'mon, I'm just standing here." Sjoberg held up his hands, eyes closed.  
  
"Stay that way, and we won't have a problem." Reid pulled his own phone out of his pocket and called Byers. "Hey, I know it's the middle of the night, but would you grab the zip cuffs in the bag I left in Frank's room and bring them out to the barn? We've got trespassers, and I'd like to make sure they don't take a swing at either of us again. I'm not sure how long L-- er, Frank's shoelaces are going to hold. ... Thanks."  
  
Langly muted the call -- the dispatcher wanted him to stay on the line until the firemen got there, just to make sure nothing else went wrong -- and sighed loudly. "God, I _hate_ Nebraska."


	31. Chapter 31

Five men on a tanker truck was not the emergency response Byers expected, but he met them at the driveway all the same.  
  
"You the guy that called it in?" the driver asked, climbing down.  
  
"No, that's Frank. He's waiting in the barn. I'm his business partner, Ken Fitzgerald. We just bought this property from the heirs, so I can understand where some people might think it's still abandoned, but once they started throwing punches... I'm just glad Dr Reid was out there with him." Byers led the way toward the barn and the firemen followed.  
  
"What's the situation in there?" another fireman asked. "Anyone armed?"  
  
"Not to my knowledge. Dr Reid -- _Agent_ Reid -- just asked me to bring his zip cuffs. He doesn't make a habit of carrying his gun, off-duty."  
  
"Agent? As in federal?" the driver's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.  
  
Byers nodded. "FBI agent. He's on vacation. We invited him to stay with us, while we finished up the sale and got things settled here. This just seemed like something better handled by the local police, but... I suppose the fire department will do just fine. They're already handcuffed. We'd just like to make sure they go away and don't come back."  
  
The second fireman slapped Byers on the back hard enough that he stumbled. "Don't worry about it. If it's my kid, I'll kick his ass. There's not a lot of people out here, and we know all of them."  
  
The driver pulled open the barn door, and the second fireman called into the barn as they entered, "Hank? That better not be you!"  
  
"Hank's not here, Mr Burlison!" One of the boys called back. "It's Josh and Jake and me!"  
  
"Names! Finally!" Langly kept his hood up as he stepped forward to meet the firemen. "Sorry about this, but they broke into my barn and assaulted us."  
  
"Assaulted a federal agent," Reid muttered, arms folded across his chest, hands tucked under them for warmth. He extracted one hand to pull out his badge. "Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid."  
  
One of the firemen whistled. "That's a whole lot of title." He stuck his hand out to Reid. "Harvey Wagoner, Fire Chief. I hear Genie couldn't raise Johnny -- the night deputy -- so we came out instead. Looks like you've got this all wrapped up."  
  
"He punched me in the head!" Eastman complained, tipping his chin at Reid.  
  
"You were literally in the middle of trying to punch him in the spleen!" Sjoberg snapped at him.  
  
"That true?" Harvey asked Reid.  
  
"All of it. I hit him once. I'd rather not have had to do it at all, but I came out without my cuffs, because I wasn't expecting ... _this_ , and I wanted to put a stop to any further fighting as quickly as possible, with the least harm done to any of us." Reid shrugged, trying to look like he wasn't shivering.  
  
"Pssh." Harvey shook his head. "I ain't worried about it. Jake's a shit and he had it coming. And that's what I'm telling your dad, too, Jake. You broke into this guy's barn and tried to jump a _fed_? You're lucky he didn't shoot your ass."  
  
Langly cleared his throat over a word and Reid shot him a dirty look. " _Knees._ "  
  
"Don't I know you?" The driver of the fire truck tipped his head to get a better look at Langly.  
  
"Sorry, I'm from Kansas." Langly shrugged, slowly realising he'd identified the three boys by their families' faces. "But, I spent some time around here, as a kid. Some cousins. Those three just looked exactly like their parents did in the summer of eighty-five."  
  
" _Dick?_ " The fourth fireman sounded horrified. "No way, but you sound just like that little shit."  
  
"Dick's dead," Frohike cut in. "It's not the first time somebody's made that mistake, so we looked him up. Buried in Arlington as a national hero, I guess."  
  
Harvey laughed like he'd never heard anything so ridiculous. "Okay, I know you probably never knew the guy, but that's... not the same guy. I mean, Dick's probably dead, but more likely because he got stabbed in a truck stop. Wouldn't be sorry but for what it did to the family. The Langlys were good people, and they deserved a better son."  
  
Reid put a hand on Langly's shoulder, squeezing it in warning.  
  
"Same with you, Jake," Harvey went on. "Your parents deserve a son who doesn't go around breaking into people's barns, so how about you start acting like you're part of the family?"  
  
"But, Uncle Harvey, it's not _their_ barn! People like _that_ don't live here!" Jake spit in Langly's direction. "Go back to San Francisco, you gaping cocksocket!"  
  
Langly lunged and Reid swung an arm around his waist, nearly pulling him off his feet.  
  
"I don't want to hear words like that out of your mouth, Jake," Harvey snapped. "You can't just go making assumptions like that about people, and even if it was true, what business is it of yours?"  
  
"Please, it's late," Byers interrupted, before Jake could get to what business of his it might be, given what he'd walked in on. "You should take them home."  
  
"I'd like to borrow two of you, if you don't mind. This is our first time in the barn, and given the evidence, we think it's not _theirs_." Reid gestured to the boys. "I'd like to make sure that if they've left anything here, in the past, it goes home with them, so they don't have an excuse to come back."  
  
"He wants to borrow two of you because he wants another butt-buddy," Jake taunted.  
  
Frohike snapped open his pocket knife, holding it by the blade, so the handle pointed to Harvey. All the eyes in the room leapt to him, with the sound. "You're going to have to cut the cuffs off to get him out of here."  
  
"Thanks," the driver said, "but Harvey should take it. I might slip and stab somebody. _Jake_."  
  
"But, it's _true_!" Jake howled, as Harvey stepped up to take the knife.  
  
"He's just like his uncle Harry. Sorry about this, folks," Harvey said, quietly, as he went to cut the Halverson kid free first. "C'mon, Josh. We're getting you home, now. Mike, come keep an eye on the kids in the truck."  
  
The fifth fireman nodded and followed Harvey and Halverson out.  
  
The driver and the fourth fireman nodded at each other and approached Reid. "Let's get their stuff, so we can get out of your hair," the driver offered. "Sounds like you guys have had a rough night."  
  
"Lorna's kid's the only one that didn't take a swing at us." Langly rolled his eyes as he joined the group headed to the back of the barn.  
  
"Lorna's--" The fourth fireman laughed. " _Linda's_. Lorna's kids are in _college_."  
  
Langly reeled. "Jesus. Really? I haven't seen Linda since she was like _eight_."  
  
"Yeah, Linda married Marty Wasserman, and Alan's their oldest."  
  
"Marty... so then Andy-- Is Andy Wasserman even still alive?" Langly asked, curious.  
  
"Oh, yeah. He ran off right after Dick did, but he came back a few years later. We all thought they took off together, you know, _together_ together, but Andy swears he never actually saw Dick, just got the idea from him." The fourth fireman looked at Langly again. "You really _do_ look like Dick."  
  
"Not a drop of Langly blood, but I'm related to his cousin. It's on the other side of the family. There were always some whispers about how much Dick looked like that side of the family, if you get me, but the dates are all wrong. Aunt Ruthie's people came from Kansas, and the Arroways are the ones that stayed behind. I used to visit sometimes in the summer, but I'm a few years younger than Dick, so..." Langly shrugged, hoping no one could see that he was sweating in the middle of this freezing barn.  
  
"Oh, you're _Mary's_ cousin!" The driver's face lit up and he stuck out his hand. "I remember Mary! You ask her if she remembers Wendell Everson!"  
  
" _Wendy?_ " Langly blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing. The guy had been like five, the last time he saw the little bastard, and trying to break into the chicken coop while their mothers had tea in the kitchen. "I thought you said you were going to take over your dad's construction company!"  
  
"I _did_. You don't think they actually pay firefighters out here, do you?" Wendell laughed and stepped back as Langly pulled open the door to the storage room that took up most of the back of the barn. "Build barns for a living, so if you need some work done on Mrs Helen's you just give me a--" He stopped talking as the room beyond the doors came into view. "Those boys are gonna get a lot more than just a talking to."  
  
"That's actually a really nice greenhouse," Langly observed. "And that's not a small amount of money."  
  
"Sure it is." Wendell shook his head. "I recognise some of these parts as things that went missing from a few of our builds. That's a solar battery system, and if you flip it up, you'll find a resource number I melted onto it with a soldering iron. We lost that one in the middle of working on Mrs Jenny's stables, last year."  
  
"Mrs Jenny's still alive? What is she ninety?" Langly blinked, stepping out of Reid's way.  
  
"Hey, Fitz?" Reid called down the barn. "Run up to the house and grab my bag? This just turned into a crime scene."  
  
"I don't know what it is, and I didn't have anything to do with it!" Alan yelled, as Harvey led him to the door. "You can't pin this on me! Jake, maybe, but not me!"  
  
"That's what fingerprints are for!" Reid called back, absently, voice dropping as he squinted into the room. "And there are a lot of smooth surfaces in here. Okay, someone needs to make coffee and find the night deputy, because this isn't my jurisdiction."

* * *

"Didn't know you were into Hank Williams," Crocker said, lingering in the doorway, as the nurse she'd been interviewing walked away.  
  
"I'm not." Chaz blinked, taking stock of himself. "You know what I'm whistling, don't you. You should tell me, because I seem to know all of it, and I have no idea what it is."  
  
"You know it because that patient rep was humming it. Ah... Weaver. Mike Weaver. I asked him what it was, and he said it was a hymn Hank Williams wrote." Crocker shook her head. "I didn't know Hank Williams wrote hymns. Did you know that?"  
  
The expression slid off Chaz's face. "Get him back here. If Weaver's not it, then he's a whole other problem about to start."  
  
Crocker snorted. "I mean, I know you're not a country fan, but that's no reason to arrest a man."  
  
"It's not that. We are way out into 'weird shit' territory, and I'm trying to figure out how much of this I can explain to you without Falkner coming down on me like the wrath of someone else's gods." The corner of Chaz's mouth tipped up. "Let me see your notes on Weaver?"  
  
"The guy seemed friendly and rational, and not that ... _weird_ friendly you get with the psychos, you know?" Crocker tipped her head toward the counter she'd been taking notes at and stepped back into the room. "Aside from the fact that he signed off on most of these, there's nothing that made me think he was our guy. And like that nurse said, it's a small enough ward that it's not actually weird that his name's on so many."  
  
"No, something's wrong, here." Chaz followed Crocker into the room, taking the page she offered him. "I should've been doing these interviews..."  
  
"They all think you're a _janitor_ , Chaz. All you'd have done was spook people, when they found out you were a fed."  
  
Chaz took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. You're probably right. But..." He stopped and stared at the page in his hands, looking at the time written in the corner. That couldn't be right... The woman in the red jacket and then the woman in the purple scrubs. There was no man between them. "When did you talk to Weaver?"  
  
"Two interviews ago. Black shirt, pearl snaps, looked like he was trying to be Johnny Cash?"  
  
"I don't remember seeing him."  
  
"Well, you sure as hell heard him. You've been whistling that song ever since."  
  
Chaz turned a sickly colour as he pulled out his phone. "Hafs? Get eyes on Mike Weaver. He's one of the patient representatives. And... pretend you're dealing with _me_."


	32. Chapter 32

"That guy you're looking for? He left the hospital, as far as we can tell." Hafidha avoided mentioning Weaver by name, because Chaz had made the entirely disconcerting suggestion that they might be looking at someone who could do the things he could, and that meant the possibility of invisibility, as well as some things Hafidha didn't really want to think too hard about. "Picked him up on video down by you -- you talked to him, Chaz. And I think you both noticed each other at the same time, because I know that look. But, he put his hand on your shoulder, and you just went back to mopping like no one was there. The cameras pick him up regularly out to the parking structure, where he gets in his car and drives away. And I put it on a DVD, so we'd have a copy in case I'm next. Already called the car in, but you want to get up here, because we're just going to cut ahead to the going to his house part of this."  
  
"How did you get a warrant that fast?" Chaz asked, sprinting up the stairs from Weaver's office.  
  
"We didn't. _You're_ coming with us, so he's going to invite us in."  
  
"This is a bad idea, Hafs. He already got to me once. To _me_. You know that's almost impossible."  
  
"Yeah, but he touched you. I'm pretty sure that's part of it. I keep watching this part over and over, and I'm pretty sure if you just don't let him touch you, he can't do it again."  
  
"Do we really want to take the chance that I'm _not_ faster than he is?"  
  
"Stand behind me, then. He'll hit me, first." Hafidha hung up as she saw Chaz slam through the door at the end of the hall.  
  
He pointed at her with his phone still in hand. "That is not an improvement."  
  
"Please, we survived Beale, we'll survive this." She grabbed him just above his elbows and looked up into his eyes. "We can do this. And we can really do this because we don't have to worry about what _Reyes_ is going to do."  
  
Chaz leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. "I have never been so glad we didn't bring Brady. But, when I tell you to get down, you duck and cover... speaking of Beale."  
  
"You think it's going to come to that?"  
  
"I think I might just start there, and cut down on the chance of him getting any of us. We're knocking on his door, Hafs. That's not exactly a safe distance."  
  
"You mean to survive this?" Hafidha pinched him just above the hip. "Speaking of Beale..."  
  
"There was a lot more going on with Beale than you know." Chaz gave a half-suppressed laugh, as he twisted away from Hafidha's fingers. "I only have to pay attention to one of this guy. Worst case, stuff marshmallow fluff in my cheek, and I'll be back up in ten. _Worst case_."  
  
"Worst case, he gets _Duke_."  
  
"Oh, _shit_." Chaz pointed to the door to the parking structure. " _Move_."

* * *

"Four hundred and ninety-seven and a haaaalf feet of rope," Frohike drawled, as Reid came into the living room, snow still melting off his coat and hair.  
  
"Hemp rope, that is," Langly finished, laying upside down on the couch, with his laptop wedged between his thighs and his chest, and they both cracked up, Reid looking on in horror.  
  
"I've never understood that," Byers cut in. "You can't even smoke hemp rope. That song is ridiculous. I mean, I guess you could smoke it, but it would not serve the suggested purpose."  
  
"Are you _stoned_?" Reid demanded. "Were you _smoking evidence_?"  
  
Langly rolled his eyes and flipped himself halfway over, legs hanging over the arm of the couch. "Pssh. _No_. We were long gone before anyone actually went in that room. Not that I wouldn't have smoked it, if it wasn't _evidence of a crime_ being committed against _me_."  
  
Reid pressed the heel of his palm against his eye. "Is that even legal in Nebraska?"  
  
Byers held up a hand as Frohike opened his mouth. "For the sake of your sanity, let's assume it is, and never put that to the test."  
  
"You know what, let's go with that." Reid rubbed a hand down his face, smearing the dust and melted snow, and Langly looked up at him, concerned.  
  
"Hey, you should--" Langly closed the laptop and shoved it under the couch. "You should give me your hands. Byers? Hot chocolate and a bowl of tap water."  
  
Frohike winced, looking over Langly's shoulder. "That's going to hurt in a minute."  
  
Reid finally actually looked at his hands, now that they weren't gloved from the scene. Red, white, and swollen. "I can still feel my fingertips. It's not frostbite, or at least it's not _bad_."  
  
"Bet you can't take your jacket off without help," Langly muttered, standing up over the arm of the couch. "And you need to take it off. Coat off, shoes off, roll up your sleeves."  
  
"It's just a little bit of swelling," Reid protested, failing to get a grip on the zipper for his coat. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but I was snowed into a cabin with no heat, earlier this year? This really isn't that concerning. We _do_ live somewhere it snows. I _have_ had cases in the winter, in colder places than this."  
  
"It's going to hurt like a bitch, and I know you're not going to take anything for it, so why don't you shut the hell up and let me make sure it doesn't get that bad?" Langly grabbed the zipper of Reid's coat and yanked it down.  
  
Frohike pointed at Langly and nodded, as Byers came back in with a bowl of water and a towel, setting them on the coffee table.  
  
Reid sighed, letting Langly peel the coat off him and herd him onto the sofa.

* * *

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Lau asked, leaning between the front seats, and Chaz had a feeling she'd have hit him, if he wasn't driving.  
  
"It's me, Nikki. Of course I'm out of my mind. I'm also _right_." Chaz cut around the asshole who wouldn't get out of the way for the sirens, and Lau held on to the headrest on Hafidha's seat. "We cannot involve the locals in any way, and you know it. I shouldn't even be bringing the two of you into it, but if Hafs is right, Weaver has to _touch_ a person to get power over them. So, if--"  
  
Lau looked back and forth between the two gammas in the front of the car and cut Chaz off mid-sentence. "Right. _I'm_ in front."  
  
Chaz glanced over his shoulder. "Nikki--"  
  
Hafidha punched him in the shoulder. "Eyes on the fucking road! We're not on the freeway, _Charles_!"  
  
"Have I ever--"  
  
"Not in all the years I've known you, but you've had a serial killer scrambling your brains, in the last two hours, so _maybe_ not the time to be testing your reflexes."  
  
"She's got a point." Lau nodded, seriously considering the wisdom of a seatbelt. "The guy's managed to make all of these look like suicides, and _hours_ after the victims left the hospital. Which is another reason you shouldn't be driving, on top of the part where I think I'm going to get carsick."  
  
"If we're going to get there before anything else goes wrong, _I'm driving_ ," Chaz argued, turning off the siren as he made a surprisingly tight turn onto a residential street, to avoid a red light. They were close enough that Chaz wanted to avoid giving Weaver the entirely accurate impression that the sirens had anything to do with him.  
  
"We don't even know he was headed home," Lau argued, before noticing Hafidha shaking her head.  
  
"Yes, we do. Or, if not home, at least back into the neighbourhood. There's always a chance he went over to the neighbour's, to wait for us, but I'm pretty sure he's gone back to the house, and he's probably about forty minutes in front of us, because Chaz drives like a lunatic."  
  
"Better than the hour and ten, when we left the hospital," Chaz muttered, pulling back onto a major street. "I don't want to give him time to get creative. On one hand, he probably doesn't know we're coming -- he thinks he overpowered the only person who recognised him. But, he does know I recognised him, just like he recognised me, so there's a pretty good chance he's at least going to call in sick and take an unexpected vacation, to dodge the investigation. Also a good chance he's going to skip town and keep going. Either way, right now, we have to get him at home before he manages to _leave_."  
  
"The car hasn't passed any major intersections," Hafidha confirmed, bracing one foot on the dashboard as Chaz braked into a turn into another residential neighbourhood.  
  
Chaz took the next corner just a little faster than the posted speed limit, still trying to figure out Weaver's next move. He'd missed something, but there hadn't really been time to stop and get to know the guy. Account for all the pieces. Weaver would know that he'd been identified, but also believe that he'd suppressed the threat, for the time being. Still, he'd want to clean up after himself and leave, at least for a little while. Clean up. There were other potential victims they'd identified. "Do me a favour. Call Duke and make sure he's at his hotel, still? Tell him to keep an eye on the guy on his floor, and not to let anyone touch him. If we miss, Weaver's going to finish what he started, before he takes off."

* * *

"My hands are fine." Reid leaned over Langly's legs to put his empty cup on the table. "My fingers have stopped clicking and everything."  
  
"Prove it," Langly demanded, a gleam in his eye.  
  
"Somewhere other than the middle of the living room," Frohike sighed, setting aside another page of police reports.  
  
"Please," Byers agreed, holding a toxicology report at arm's length and trying to pretend he didn't need reading glasses for fuzzily-Xeroxed ten point type. "Do you know what we haven't checked? Medical records from other sources. How many of the mothers had other gynaecologists before the clinic and after it closed? There would probably be a note about the fertility treatments. There would probably be notes in a family doctor's notes, too, but percentages say there are fewer gynaecologists in the county."  
  
"Again, Byers," Langly huffed, leaning back over the arm of the couch, "these people are probably long retired. Where the hell do we get their records? It's the same problem all over again, only worse, because, you know, at least we'd have had a believable argument with the fertility clinic: 'Hi, I think I'm one of the results of your treatments, and I'd like my dead mother's records'. If we're looking for other subjects, that's not going to fly."  
  
"It wasn't going to fly anyway." Reid shoved an arm under Langly's knees and pulled him back up with the other, getting a confused and offended look, before he stood up, eliciting a surprised shriek from Langly. "You're either dead or she's not your mother."  
  
"Jesus christ!" Langly clung to Reid's neck. "A little warning before you do that?"  
  
"Poke holes in your plans?" Reid teased, kissing Langly's cheek. "And once again, we've proven you weigh more than I do, so I probably shouldn't stand around like this for too long."  
  
"Oh, shit, your back." Langly blinked. "Put me down. Seriously, put me down before you hurt yourself."  
  
"Don't squirm, and I'll be fine," Reid managed through teeth clenched into what might've passed for a smile. "Gentlemen, it's been an exciting evening, but I believe I need to go demonstrate that my fingers still work. We'll see you in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again it is time to remind all ten of you (possibly eleven, now!) that there's An Actual Community for this series (and its source materials). Join us on [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/community/Vexation%20of%20Spirit), and see the community info for links to the kinkmeme, our Discord, and the Vexation-themed CAH deck ( ~~community posts to schedule games are always welcome~~ ). And probably some other shit, too, because I'm a complete space case 90% of the time.


	33. Chapter 33

"Prove you're smarter than Orpheus," Chaz had said, with that razor-thin smile that looked like he'd cut himself with it, "and don't look back."  
  
Lau raised her hand to knock on Weaver's door, while Hafidha worked up some fake tears. Neither of them had seen Chaz since they got out of the car, and that was the way he wanted it, though she wasn't sure she'd see him if she did look back. What she knew, though, after all these years, was that Chaz was a lot less dangerous if you weren't looking at him. Which was why it was a good thing he was so damned tall.  
  
Weaver's car was parked in the driveway, so Lau was pretty sure he'd be home, barring running next door to set a trap, like Hafs had suggested. And just as she was about to open the storm door to try again, the inner door swung open, revealing the man they'd seen in the recording -- probably forty-something to judge by his eyes, short black hair, black shirt, black pants, and those white pearl buttons. Lau thought he looked like a charismatic preacher. Hopefully, she'd be right about his motivations.  
  
"We're sorry to catch you at home, Mr. Weaver, but when we asked at the hospital, they said we'd just missed you, and we heard you were the very best at what you do, so I looked you up in the phone book--"  
  
Weaver shook his head, looking confused. "You must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm a _patient_ representative. I don't handle much of the family side of things." His eyes drifted to the space between the two women.  
  
"No, I--" Hafidha stepped away from Lau, hoping the move would give Chaz a little more space to work. "I have a terminal neurological condition, and I need someone to negotiate for me. I've been at the hospital to get used to the idea of ... staying." She tried _not_ to think of Idlewood. That was exactly the wrong sort of emotion to present, here. She needed grief, not seething fury.  
  
"Of course. I'd be happy to help you." Weaver's eyes softened as he reached for the latch on the storm door, eyes still lingering on the space between the women on his stoop. "Come in."  
  
Chaz began to fade into view, like the Cheshire cat, except instead of beginning with his smile, his eyes appeared first, and Weaver made the mistake of looking right into them. The eyes were the windows to the soul, or at least to the parts of the brain occupied with decision making and the immediate train of thought, and Weaver's had just wrecked. He knew what was happening, and Chaz knew he knew, as that sudden rush of panic hit.  
  
Weaver's first thought was to finish opening the door, but he couldn't quite make it happen, as if the hand belonged to someone else entirely. The next thought was that the janitor on his front step knew what he'd done and intended to use this newfound skill to try to make him do the same. Of course, that wouldn't work. Weaver knew himself to be far more experienced and skilful than this starving child freezing on his porch.  
  
Chaz watched all these thoughts unfold. _Starving child?_ Well, he was definitely going to want pizza after this, and Weaver probably had a couple of years on him, if one counted time linearly and assumed it didn't double back on itself. For the second time that week, he considered just... forgetting to re-dye his hair. He could feel Weaver trying to seize his guilt over _that_ debacle, and frankly, he had more than enough of it to spare, but he pulled that bait out of reach as Weaver caught a glimpse of it, the mirror locking into place between them.  
  
And this, Chaz didn't want to see. He never did, but he still hadn't found a way not to. Well, no. That wasn't quite true. If he really wanted to, he could stop seeing the reflections, but then he'd lose control of the process, and that was much more dangerous and potentially horrifying than the alternative. He remembered the first time he'd _really_ used the mirror, intentionally -- the fire, the smoke, the breaking glass...  
  
And he could feel Weaver grab at that memory and twist it, but that was what Weaver hadn't yet figured out. It was impossible to make him feel any worse about what he'd done to those girls, even if they had been trying to kill him, at the time. The Anomaly had already had that conversation with him, and a repeat of it wasn't going to change much.  
  
For the first time, Weaver really began to feel fear. Not the flash of half-comprehending panic at meeting another of his kind, but genuine, knowing, gut-wrenching fear.  
  
She knew better than to turn around, but when Chaz wobbled, bumping into her back, Hafidha closed her eyes and stepped out and back, slinging an arm around him to grab him by the belt loop and digging her shoulder into his ribs, while she jammed a hand into her bag looking for the inevitable backup stash of snacks.  
  
Lau was leaning on the storm door, just to make sure Weaver wouldn't get it open unexpectedly, when she heard the shift happen and saw Hafidha drop out of sight to the side. "He all right?"  
  
"He's a dumbass who should've been eating instead of driving. He knew he was going to do this."  
  
Chaz made a small sound of amusement as he accepted the half-unwrapped candy bar Hafidha pressed into his hand. But, he'd thank her later, after this was over. All of his focus was on Weaver, who wouldn't stop fighting him. And that was probably almost as good as if he had surrendered. Chaz was pretty sure that, of the two of them, he could keep this up longer, with or without Hafs feeding him. He'd kept his shit together for _days_ without food, and while this was definitely higher intensity, if they went into a long burn, Weaver was almost inevitably going to go down faster. Chaz was pretty sure from what he'd seen that Weaver wasn't going to be able to handle the side-effects. Of course, he was also pretty sure that his own ability to handle the side effects was completely pathological, and there were studies to back that up.  
  
But, Weaver just kept pushing, kept twisting, and Chaz's mind filled with his own failures, the harm he'd caused in his work and his personal life. People he hadn't saved, the conversation he didn't want to have with Reid, _Daphne_. Okay, _that_ hurt. But, he let it go and brought his focus back to Weaver's wrongs, back to the people Weaver had failed to save, back to -- but Weaver had no guilt about the people he'd killed. None. He'd done what he needed to. He'd done what was right. There was no guilt and no shame, but only an understanding that what he'd done might be considered illegal, if anyone could prove he'd done it. But, that was impossible, because he'd been given the power to make things right, and it wasn't something anyone else believed in. He was a superhero, alien powers and all, operating outside the law, and no one would ever catch him, because no one would ever believe those powers could be real.  
  
Except this asshole standing on the porch.  
  
This asshole who was increasingly likely not a janitor at all.  
  
There had to be something. No one lived without remorse, without fear. And most often, it was somehow related to... no, wait a minute. There had to be something. Weaver was a gamma, not just a beta, a full-blown gamma. That didn't just _happen_. Something caused it -- something related to the power, related to the deaths. However righteous and remorseless he was, now, he'd been helpless _somewhere_. No one had listened to him. How long ago? Had he, like Chaz, figured out how to live like this on his own? Did a better job of it, too, Chaz thought, looking at the guy. But, Weaver wasn't doing as much with it, which probably helped.  
  
And then everything snapped into place. A woman's eyes, not comatose, but paralysed. Mother? Sister? Mother-sister? Aunt? Grandmother? Great-Aunt. Weaver had been somewhere between himself and Alcea, only able to detect grief, suffering, in those around him. And no one would listen to him, when he said Auntie told him what she wanted. They'd put him out of Granny's house and wouldn't let him in again. A couple years later, Auntie had finally died after a months-long struggle with a completely preventable infection, because as much as they said that everything they did was in her best interest, no one actually had the patience to care for her properly. Weaver had gone to the funeral, and they'd tried to make him leave.  
  
 _"You never liked her!"_  
  
 _"Well, you finally killed her!"_  
  
 _"Are you happy she's dead?"_  
  
Yes, he _was_ happy she was dead, and he was sorry she'd had to suffer these idiots the whole way there. Within a week, half the people who'd pushed and punched him at the funeral had died, all of them leaving notes about how they'd failed Auntie at the end, and couldn't live with it.  
  
But, Weaver had failed her, too. He'd known what she wanted -- he'd been the only one who could know -- and he hadn't helped her, because he was afraid. He'd thought it was the duty of older, more responsible members of the family. But, they'd called him a sadist and thrown him out. Funny how he'd started gaining weight, once he was out of that house. But, after Auntie died, he started struggling with it, again.  
  
The hospital had become his salvation -- a settled schedule, an almost-private office after a while, and dozens of people who needed his help. The truly living were the easier ones. He could hold the hands of their families and show them the right thing to do. Some wanted to live. Some wanted to die. But, no one doubted what they wanted, once they'd seen it. It was the dead ones that weren't so easy. They didn't have desires, any more. They weren't grieving or suffering as they rotted away. There was just the smell of decay that underlaid everything else on the ward, subtle, but always present. And it turned the mood of every person who smelled it -- fear of death, fear of not quite dying and being left to decay, fear for the patients. It made chaos. It made bad decisions. But, Weaver had the power to fix it. To make things right again for his patients. And that, after all, was what they paid him to do.  
  
Chaz leaned in, physically and mentally, and Lau dodged out of his way as he brought his arm up to hold the storm door closed, Hafidha relaxing her grip on him, once she realised he could support himself. He could barely see the door, barely see Weaver standing behind the glass. All that mattered was what Weaver had focused on. And then he found it, and Chaz tipped the mirror just so, picking up the exhaustion of Weaver's work. The way he'd started losing weight, again, since the killings had begun. It was hard to burn so bright, so long. There was never quite enough food or sleep -- the long mid-day naps in his office after a heavy lunch for two. The secret girlfriend all the nurses thought he had, because he disappeared in the middle of his day, and he always brought so much food. But, it was like they said about the doctors, he was married to his work.  
  
But, some days, it made him so tired. Exhausted, weak, that sick smell if he skipped lunch or even ate a little later than he'd meant. At least in his office he could get away from the noise. He'd had to slow down, finally, after he'd almost screwed up the last one. He couldn't remember parts of that conversation, and it had taken three tries to get the man to do what needed to be done. One step, two steps. An orderly progression. Everything had to be done in order, because there was really only one chance, once it had begun.  
  
But, he was so tired. The work took so much out of him. He needed to eat. He needed to sleep. But, he couldn't quite remember where he was. Maybe just a nap, then. When he woke, it would all make sense again. He worked in a hospital. Someone would know what to do. He was just stressed. A perfect reason to take a bit of a vacation. His work was almost done, here, and then he could rest for real. It would be easier to keep things right, once he'd made them right in the first place. But, now, a nap. One of the nurses would find him. Hypertension and hypoglycaemia. A perfect reason for a--  
  
Lau watched Weaver tip forward and slide down the inside of the storm door.  
  
"Platypus? You okay?" Hafidha felt Chaz buckle against her side.  
  
He held up one thumb as he sank to his knees, Hafidha easing him down onto the snowy stoop. "Get Duke and Crocker. I don't want anyone handling him who doesn't know better."  
  
Lau finally turned around, eyes following last, just to make sure Weaver was down. "Hey, Chaz? I thought you said he couldn't do his thing without contact."  
  
"He can't." Chaz shook his head, staring down at his knees. " _I_ made contact. It doesn't have to be physical, if someone else starts it. And one of these days, it's not going to need to be physical at all, and I'm kind of hoping he never figures that out. Good candidate for the Bugzapper, at a glance, though. He's not _deranged_ , he's just got a skewed moral compass. I get what he was trying to do. I really _get it_. He just went too far, like taking a plane to Bangkok for a conference in New York is too far."  
  
Chaz tipped sideways into the snow, catching his head on the railing as one leg unfolded and slid down the steps behind him. "A box of Twinkies, a caramel latte, and I'm sleeping on the plane. I'm fine. I promise. Just... conserving energy."  
  
"Pick your leg up, Chazzie. You're leaking body heat like that. It's all fun and games until you freeze to death because you left your crotch uncovered." Hafidha held up a finger. "I know you're wearing pants, and you know that's not going to help."  
  
Lau nudged Hafidha and pointed back toward the door. "Shoot him if he moves. I'll get Wonderboy, here, back to the car, so he doesn't freeze to death."  
  
"Orange juice is in the trunk," Hafidha reminded her, turning back to watch Weaver as she called for backup. Well, less 'backup' and more 'a pickup'.  
  
"No," Chaz finally said, slapping Lau's hands away, as he dragged himself back into a kneeling position, leaning against the rail for support he didn't technically need, but why waste more energy than he had to. "Go get me something to eat, but I can't let him out of my sight, until he's actually drugged. Once I'm not the only thing keeping him unconscious..."  
  
Hafidha nodded, still talking to thin air. "And Duke? Hit up animal control for a tranq gun. This one's a doozy."


	34. Chapter 34

Reid should not have carried Langly up the stairs. He knew that before he did it, but damned if he was going to put his health in question twice in the same night. A warm, wet burn spread between his shoulder blades, as he closed the door of Langly's room with his heel. He tried to breathe shallowly as he crossed the room, still smiling faintly, until he collapsed, somehow setting Langly more or less gently on the bed.  
  
"Sprained your back, didn't you." Langly eyed him with obvious exasperation.  
  
"Lost my balance," Reid countered, trying to look like he was in substantially less pain than was currently trying to make a dent in his pleasantly smug smile, as he untied Langly's shoes for the second time that night.  
  
"You got shot in the damn back, Reid. You're supposed to be taking it easy."  
  
"Do you know how many weeks I sat in a chair doing nothing but editing? I think you do. I would like just a _little_ more excitement in my life." Reid tossed one of Langly's socks over his shoulder and then pressed both his thumbs against the bottom of Langly's foot, forestalling the next comment for a few seconds as Langly's eyes rolled back in his head.  
  
"If that's excitement, I'm... you can just... I'm just gonna sit right here."  
  
"Good choice," Reid agreed, grateful for a non-awkward excuse to avoid getting off the floor for a few more minutes. He was going to want to wash his hands, after this, but if it kept Langly agreeable and maybe a little turned on, then he'd be able to avoid the inevitable argument about his back, until he was done demonstrating that he hadn't sprained it. Which, really, beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, he had. Pretty badly, too, but it still hurt less than any of the last three times he'd gotten shot, which meant he could probably ignore it. Mostly. Ish.  
  
Langly leaned back on his elbows, making the occasional dazed sound of encouragement as Reid did things to his feet that seemed to echo through his entire body. At the very least, his legs were tingling and his lips were numb, and he was sure there was a fuck he was supposed to give about that, but he just couldn't find it. Eventually, he managed to string a sentence together. "You know, I'm pretty sure this is how people wind up with foot fetishes."  
  
"Was that a complaint?" Reid peered up the length of Langly's body from between his knees. "Did you want me to move on to something else --" He reached up and single-handedly popped the first button on Langly's jeans, wholly thrilled his fingers paid enough mind to let him do it. "Or maybe you want me to stop...?"  
  
One of Langly's hands shot out, wrapping around Reid's wrist, the loss of a support elbow throwing him off balance and dropping him back onto the bed. "Did I say stop? I don't think I said stop." Langly pushed himself back up on one elbow. "I'm kind of interested in where you not stopping is going to end up. A lot interested. Really, _really_ interested."  
  
"Are you?" Reid teased, working his way down the buttons. "Even though I've conclusively proven that my fingers have recovered?"  
  
"Conclusively? I don't know about conclusively. I might still have some ques-- ah, questions about your--" Langly shrieked as Reid pulled his jeans hard enough to knock him onto his back, shoulders slamming into the wall next to the window, as Reid wrested the jeans off, tossing them after Langly's socks. Langly cleared his throat and straightened his boxers. "Questions about your dexterity. Pretty sure that answered any lasting questions about grip strength."  
  
Langly looked impressed and much more than a little turned on, to judge by the way he pulled his shirt down as he propped himself up again. Reid continued to look almost serene and faintly amused as he kneaded Langly's lower leg.  
  
"Questions about my dexterity, hmm? Even after the buttons?" Reid pressed a kiss to the inner curve of Langly's knee. "I may have to work my way up to something a little more definitive, then."  
  
"As long as that involves you working your way up my leg, I'm for it." Langly stretched his other leg and rubbed his heel against Reid's back, which tensed under the touch. "You're not trying to keep me in a haze of mad lust for you so I'll stop worrying about the fact you absolutely did sprain your back, are you?"  
  
"Would I do a thing like that?" Reid looked up at Langly, all too innocent.  
  
Langly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you would, and you'd look just like that doing it. Which is a yes."  
  
"Look, I'm not going to make it _worse_ ," Reid finally conceded.  
  
"Take something for it."  
  
"No." Reid recoiled as Langly flicked him in the forehead.  
  
"Take something for the _swelling_ , or being alive is going to make it worse." Langly rolled his eyes again. "You know, I was right there with you for a whole lot of the time you had off for this. I do remember how this works. You're going to piss and moan about how you don't need it, and then in the morning you're going to wake me up all hot and sweaty asking why you ever doubted me. I seem to recall this ending up in us running out the hot water in the shower at least twice." He sat up to look straight down at Reid, who was, he noticed, still completely gorgeous, even kneeling on the floor in pain. "Take a god damn Tylenol."  
  
"I'm busy. I'll do it in a bit." And with that, Reid lowered his lips to Langly's inner thigh, teasing kisses accenting the pressure from his fingers still kneading Langly's calf.  
  
Langly swallowed a few times, trying to remember how to put words together. "If you can't get up for breakfast, I'm not bringing you any."  
  
"Byers will." Reid breathed the words against Langly's skin, feeling Langly give up and fall back, again.  
  
It wasn't quite 'giving up', even if Langly did have to pay a little more attention than usual when he grabbed the network to send Byers a text. Not 'don't bring breakfast' but 'Special Agent Dumbass left his bag downstairs'. He knew damn well Reid had been hoarding the good anti-inflammatories and probably had a bottle stuffed in a pair of socks, just in case. Part of making yourself out to be a machine, he knew from personal experience, involved carefully hiding the amount of effort it took to look that smooth all the time. And Byers to the rescue _now_ would make Langly look like less of an asshole than Byers to the rescue in the morning.  
  
Neither of them said another word until Byers tapped on the door, but Langly managed a multitude of extremely encouraging sounds that mostly covered the sound of feet on the stairs.  
  
"I'm just going to leave this out here," Byers said, on the tail of a ragged and desperate sound from the other side of the door.  
  
Langly cleared his throat. "Just bring it in, Byers. It's not like you've never seen my legs."  
  
"It's not your legs I'm worried about."  
  
"Well, my legs are the only thing on display, in here. Just bring me the damn bag, Byers." Langly forced himself to sit at least half up as Reid stopped licking, wiping his mouth as he looked over his shoulder at the door.  
  
"I'm dressed," Reid offered, and the door finally opened just enough for Byers to duck in, shielding himself with the bag he held. A split second later, Reid recognised his own bag and Langly's thought process.  
  
"I promise I'll make lunch tomorrow." Langly held one hand out for the bag, the other holding him up.  
  
Byers handed over the bag and turned back toward the door, trying not to look at Reid. "Only if you're making enough mimosas for my nightmares."  
  
"It's just my legs, Byers," Langly complained as Byers slipped out the door. "You like me naked, so I don't know what you're complaining about."  
  
Byers's eyes darted to Reid in horror, before he pulled the door shut.  
  
Reid looked up at Langly and shrugged one shoulder, regretting the motion instantly. "He knows I know."  
  
"He just likes to pretend he doesn't have a boner for me. It worked for almost thirty years. Credit where it's due." Langly grabbed the can of Jolt he'd palmed while Reid was occupied with his legs and cracked it open with one hand, resting it against his crotch as he unzipped Reid's bag and found what he was looking for in seconds. He pressed the bottle into Reid's hand. "And better than Tylenol."  
  
"How did you--?"  
  
"I know you. I know me. I know all those things that I'd do that you're gonna do because not doing them would be stupid." Langly held out the can of Jolt. "Take a pill and maybe you won't end up sleeping on the floor for your own good."  
  
Reid pressed his face against Langly's leg, taking a few long, slow breaths. "Langly?"  
  
The fact that no more words followed immediately got Langly's attention. "That's the sound of me screwing up, isn't it?"  
  
"Put it next to the alarm clock. It'll be right there, if I need it." Reid held up the bottle of pills, face still mashed against Langly's thigh. "I know you're trying to help, but you've helped. You have to stop, now. I'll get there, because you _are_ right, but it has to be on my terms."  
  
"Shit. Sorry." Langly twisted around to put the Jolt and the pills on the windowsill, running his fingers through Reid's hair as he turned back. "You know me. I see a problem and I just want to fix it."  
  
"I know," Reid muttered, miserably. "And most of the time, that's fine. That's perfect. That's exactly what _I'd_ do, for better or worse. But, this is up there with 'your fingers don't belong on my food'. Same time and place, too."  
  
"I'll get there. Eventually. Assuming you can put up with me that long, which right now? The odds are looking pretty good. You've been putting up with me for like half a year, and Frohike always said the first six months were the hardest." Langly laughed, mostly at himself, and bent down to kiss the back of Reid's head. "I'm guessing this is the part where I don't get laid, though."  
  
"Did I say that?" Reid nipped Langly's thigh, pulling back just enough that his words left a trail of warmth along the skin. "I don't think I said that." Lavishing affection on Langly's inner thigh, Reid shrugged Langly's knees up over his shoulders, which he was going to regret, right about now. "How much space is behind you?"  
  
"Not enough. I will absolutely slam my head on the wall, if you go through with this." Langly nudged Reid's neck with his knee. "Move a little, and I think I can get the corner of the bed. I know you're not going to fit past the desk like this."  
  
And then Reid's phone rang, and frustration splashed across his face. "I'm not answering that."  
  
"Answer it. It's Villette." Langly looked behind himself, trying to judge the distance to the wall, as Reid inched sideways, fishing his phone out.  
  
"Kind of busy, Chaz."  
  
"I should've checked before I called. Sorry to interrupt. I just have one... well, two questions." Chaz took a breath like he might not ask. "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm in Nebraska. On vacation."  
  
"Okay. That's... Give Frank the phone?"  
  
Langly rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. "Frank doesn't need the phone to hear you, Villette."  
  
"Okay. Good. I'm... Listen, I'm standing in an airport, and I've got three days of medical leave staring me in the face, because I did something necessarily stupid, and tomorrow is New Year's Eve..."  
  
Langly sighed loudly. "Give me the airport code and I'll have you on my doorstep in a few hours. I hope you packed for snow. I hope you also packed for a possible DEA raid, because things have not been quiet, here."  
  
"It's abandoned farmland, Frank, what the hell were you expecting?" Chaz paused, and there was a sound of papers rustling before he read off the code.  
  
"The fields? Yes. The _dairy barn_? Less so." One of Langly's hands flicked through the data from downstairs, cutting himself a narrow slice of bandwidth. "Chinese, Mexican, Italian, or American? I'm sending dinner for four, because I know how we eat, and I want you in your right mind getting in the cab. Run like hell to Terminal P, while you answer me, because you're cleared for takeoff in forty minutes and the food will get there before you."  
  
"Mexican," Chaz answered without a second thought, a brief pause preceding the sound of him picking a direction and bolting in it. "Thank you. Both of you."  
  
"Don't thank me yet," Reid warned. "Let me know when you're on the ground."  
  
"Will do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disaster porn just got even more disastrous and I'm 1500 words past this and it's still more disaster than porn, so please, just take these 2100 words to hold you over until I can get these common sense impaired geniuses to stop breaking shit.


	35. Chapter 35

The call disconnected, and Reid sat staring at the phone for a few long moments, before he put it on the corner of the desk behind him and held his hand out to Langly. "One pill."  
  
Langly twisted around so fast he almost sprained his own back, shaking one small pill out of the bottle and grabbing the Jolt before he sat back up to offer both to Reid. There were things he could say, but none of them would improve the situation.  
  
Reid washed the pill down with half the can of Jolt, grimacing as he put the can back in Langly's hand. "That's still vile."  
  
"Which is why you had half a can of it."  
  
"If I have to taste it anyway, there's no reason to miss out on the caffeine, if I'm going to have to be awake soon, anyway. How far out is he?"  
  
Langly put the can back on the windowsill. "Assuming they get off the ground on time, less than four hours, including the cab. It's the Midwest. It's not like we're far from anywhere."  
  
Reid unbuckled his belt as he stood, knocking Langly backward and thankfully missing the wall. He bent down, pinning Langly's knees between their shoulders. "Just enough time, then."  
  
"Four hours? Us? More like half an hour." Langly struggled with his boxers, finally getting them past his bent hips.  
  
"Yeah, but I'm going to need to lie on the floor for an hour or two after this," Reid admitted, stifling Langly's protests with his lips, as he fished a condom out of his pocket, left from the evening's earlier exploits. "It is _my_ back, and I am allowed to put unwise strain on it, in pursuit of other desires."  
  
Langly shifted a little, trying to figure out how to breathe while folded in half. "Is it just me, or do you get outrageously horny every time I almost get killed?"  
  
"It's not just you, you know why, and don't take that as encouragement to put yourself into more dangerous situations." Reid stole another kiss and pushed himself up, looking around them. "I left the lube in the barn, didn't I."  
  
Langly tossed his glasses onto the windowsill, listening to them slide off and clatter down behind the bed. "Goddammit." He huffed and stretched down off the side of the bed. "Luckily, you're in a room that was inhabited by fifteen-year-old me, and fifteen-year-old me had his priorities in order. Stand up a little more so I can reach."  
  
Reid got his arm out of the way, watching Langly twist himself over the edge of the bed. "If you're about to hand me a thirty-year-old jar of--"  
  
"Vaseline?" Langly flipped it onto the bed and pulled himself back up. "It's not a great answer, but you're not going to last long enough for either of us to care."  
  
Reid recoiled, looking entirely offended.  
  
"That was an 'almost', in the barn, and I know it. I know _you_. You're absolutely wound up, pissed off, and freaked out, and that's finally starting to wear off. Another few kisses and you'll be shaking."  
  
"I'm not _Chaz_."  
  
"Maybe not, but we, together, were just in some amount of danger, right on the heels of that shit in Idaho, and that post-adrenaline glow tells me you're not going to make five minutes." Langly picked up the Vaseline and offered it to Reid around his leg. "In which time, you'll probably get me twice, because I love it when you get like this. You're still _dressed_. As much as I like you naked, this is just _hot_."  
  
"Because you find erotic encounters in semi-public places appealing, and those don't involve undressing," Reid guessed, trying to figure out if the sludge in the jar still qualified as a lubricant. A little sticky, but it seemed to loosen up with the limited heat from his fingers. Worst case... would be excruciating, honestly.  
  
" _No_ , because you're so turned on, you can't even bother to get your clothes off." A mischeivous grin spread across Langly's face.  
  
Reid decided not to point out that he'd thrown his back out, and trying to get out of and then back into his clothes just didn't sound like an experience he wanted to have. "Like you said, the barn was an _almost_ , and I'd like to finish what I started." He paused, starting at the almost-slick petroleum product clumped on his fingers. "Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"  
  
"No idea, but I'm sure I want to find out." Langly shrugged against the bed, then half-sat up to pull his hair out from under himself. "As long as finding out involves you doing something _to me_ with that hand."  
  
"That's exactly my concern," Reid murmured, uncertainly, before deciding that, as he had so many times before, he was just going to take Langly's word for this. His hand moved between them, and he tried to press the grease into Langly's body. And then he tried again, as the heat made it somewhat runnier, but it was still thick enough to make for an entirely unpleasant experience against his fingers. It was, in a word, _gross_. Not that this entire scenario wasn't gross, on some level, but it was usually _abstractly_ gross. He'd wash his hands after. This was somehow _viscerally disgusting_ with the addition of petroleum jelly. He wasn't a fan of the stuff to begin with, and now even less so.  
  
A few deep breaths and he tried to ignore the sensation, to focus on the way Langly stretched and writhed under him, clearly wanting more. And more would be easy enough -- the condom would take care of the worst of it -- but he still had to get the Vaseline off his hand, and he'd left Langly's socks on the other side of the room.  
  
He'd skipped steps, and it was becoming increasingly obvious how important those steps actually were.  
  
Langly sighed, when Reid froze up, immediately recognising the problem. "Wipe that on my boxers. Won't be the first time."  
  
"Are you s--"  
  
"Yes. Are you really telling me you've never--"  
  
" _Unlubricated condoms._ "  
  
"Yeah, okay." Langly tried three times before he figured out how to put his hand on Reid's face, with his leg and Reid's arm in the way, but he finally managed, running his thumb across Reid's cheek. "Hey, is it really us if we don't screw it up first?"  
  
Reid groaned and crumpled, burying his face against Langly's chest and stretching his back in a way that was slightly less horrible. "We're really like that, aren't we?"  
  
"Okay, but the important part is that we're both geniuses, and we've never screwed up so badly we didn't both get off." Langly could feel the objection start in the middle of Reid's back. "The barn does not count. _We_ did not screw that up. That was inside a structure on private property, and intentionally away from anyone who might have overheard."  
  
"Talking about the barn? Not helping."  
  
"Okay, how about that time I belted you in the face and you still ripped my clothes off and banged me like a cheap screen door?"  
  
"That was a solid recovery," Reid agreed, still sounding a bit strained.  
  
"First time. Up against the bathroom wall."  
  
"I wanted you. I was completely terrified, but I wanted you so much it hurt to breathe." Reid made a small sound of amusement. "I still want you like that. Every time you smile at me, it's an ache in my bones."  
  
"In your _boner_."  
  
"No, that's a few minutes _later_. There are hands involved before we get to that point."  
  
"And in this position, I'm not going to be a lot of help. One hand can't reach you and you're laying on the other one. Also my ribs, my knees, and possibly my spleen, which might actually be hot if your boner was any part of this, but last time I checked you were still trying to figure out what to do with a handful of Vaseline." Langly stretched as best he could. "Really. This was hot, and then you got distracted because my socks are over there." He pointed with his free hand. "I don't have to be Villette, I just know that look."  
  
"First time. Up against the wall." Reid closed his eyes and stopped leaning on Langly, who took an audible breath. "In _my_ bathroom, up against the wall, between the hospital and Byers. I don't think the neighbours ever forgave us for that one. That sound you made when I put my hands on your back..."  
  
"Because you know exactly what I want, even if it takes you half a damn hour to get there," Langly teased, watching Reid try to pull himself together. "Hey, seriously though, I don't care how long it takes you. It took coming back from the dead to find somebody like you, and that's not a chance I'd have taken if it wasn't worth it."  
  
"I just want you to know I'm getting the lube before we do this again, because this is completely disgusting. I wiped my hand off and I can still feel it. But, I think," Reid said, bracing himself with one hand beside Langly's shoulder, his other hand, still suffering with the ghost of petroleum jelly, lining him up, "you've waited long enough for me."  
  
"Too long," Langly agreed, gazing up in amazed desire as the man he loved -- and when had that entered his vocabulary? when had that become part of his reality? -- eased into him a little more awkwardly than usual. "Should I move my--"  
  
"No! No, don't move. Just ... give me a minute." Concern flashed across Reid's face, and he stopped. "Are you okay?"  
  
Langly froze. "What? I'm-- Why are you stopping? What did you just say about waiting? Don't _stop_!"  
  
"I'm just making sure I didn't _hurt you_." Reid pressed a kiss to Langly's lips hoping to avoid any questions about why only one of his hands was on the bed, if Langly started to figure out what was happening. He just needed another minute or two. Kissing his way back along Langly's jaw, he murmured, "This bed is too small."  
  
"Oh, that's a lot out of the guy who doesn't even have a bed," Langly scoffed, tipping his head back to bare his throat to Reid's hungry kisses.  
  
"What do I need with a bed?" Reid breathed against Langly's skin, rolling his hips as he buried himself as deep as he could go. "Didn't you give me the best chair in the known world? I'm sure we've missed a few uses for it. Maybe we should try harder."  
  
"Maybe you should fuck me harder," Langly demanded, breathless with tension. "You've got your dick up my ass, and you're _still_ a wicked tease."  
  
And Reid didn't have enough hands for the answer he wanted to give to that, but he still tried, slamming his hips forward, hard and deep. Langly's hands leapt up, catching the wall before he hit it with his head.  
  
"Like that?" Reid teased, gently rolling his hips.  
  
Langly howled with frustration. "Stop screwing with me and screw me already!"  
  
"What was that about me not lasting five minutes?"  
  
"Oh my god, _really_? Will you just--" Langly's words cut off in a gasp as Reid's hips snapped forward again. " _That!_ God, yes!"  
  
"Tell me," Reid breathed, letting Langly's legs bear some of his weight as he rammed himself in, again and again, slow and hard. Almost there...  
  
"Hard. Fast." Langly shivered. In this position, they were barely touching, and every ghost of breath and lips against his skin drew his attention and desire. "Show me you want me, like I want you. God, I want you. Nobody was ever as good as you. I waited my entire life to get fucked like this."  
  
Reid shifted his weight, bracing himself with both hands, careful not to lean on Langly's hair, as he picked up the pace. He focused on the desire that coursed through him at Langly's words, trying to ignore the ache in his back and the weird sticky-slickness between his fingers. "Tell me," he demanded, again, growling the words against Langly's ear.  
  
Langly arched and twisted, his reactions constrained by the fact his knees were slipping back off his shoulders a little further with every thrust, and the more he bent, the better Reid's angle became. He tried for words, tried to say something about how good this felt and that he wanted more, but all that came out of his mouth were broken half words and needy sounds forced out of him as his thighs pressed against his chest. Finally, he settled for a single syllable: " _Yes!_ "  
  
Pain flashed through Reid's body, as Langly's legs tensed, heels digging into his back. Flashes of white splashed across his vision, and it took him a moment to recognise that the splash of white across Langly's face, the one he couldn't blink away, wasn't just an echo of his own suffering. He tried not to smile. He did. But, given the look on Langly's face, that only made it worse.  
  
"Looks good on you," Reid offered, eyes wide in some wholly ineffective attempt at innocence, as he shrugged one of Langly's legs off his shoulder, intending to drape it across his lower back so Langly would stop digging his heel into exactly where it hurt. Except Langly was still wearing boxers, shoved halfway down his thighs, so his legs weren't going anywhere. As Reid turned his attention back to Langly's face, meeting the hand reaching toward him with his cheek, he realised he had made a critical mistake.  
  
"Looks better on you," Langly huffed, squirming so his boxers would stop cutting off his circulation. "Don't look at me like that. You were going to take a shower anyway."  
  
"You are... so lucky I love you." Reid shifted Langly's leg back onto his shoulder and rolled his hips.  
  
"I'm so lucky you're not done with me, yet," Langly breathed, wiping his hand off on the corner of the bed before he reached for Reid, again, this time pulling him into a kiss.  
  
Reid let himself be dragged down, with just enough resistance to get Langly to wonder how offended he'd really been. And on some level he was, but on another he realised exactly how ridiculous that offence was, particularly in light of how their night had gone, thus far. They were both still shaken by what had happened in the barn. Langly was acting out. _He_ was acting out. They'd be over it before breakfast, mostly, but right that minute, they were both insecure and _stupid_ , not that he had any intention of pointing it out or admitting to it. Instead, he made a quiet sound of contentment into the kiss, which won him Langly's hands skimming down his sides, as if afraid to touch too firmly, and he answered with another wordless sound of encouragement.  
  
Those hands clutched at him, trying to pull him closer, Langly's hum of pleasure reverberating through his teeth, and Reid finally brought a knee up, bracing it on the bed, to try to push himself in even deeper. As exciting and spontaneous as this position had seemed, when he'd thought of it, Reid was starting to realise that he preferred more of Langly's body closer to him than they were going to get like this. But, there was always later. Maybe in the shower, tomorrow. Just the two of them, if Chaz could sleep. One more attempt at sex in an environment that seemed to support it even less than his apartment, which was really saying something.  
  
And then Langly clenched around him, and that whole train of thought derailed, as he drew back to look at the man he'd come to love, watching the wonder and desire cross that face as he picked up the pace, again, the whole of his focus on Langly. Or, as much of it as he could gather. He was so close. It was almost right. "I don't think this is going to work as intended," he finally admitted, still in motion.  
  
"Yes it is." Langly stretched until his fingers met Reid's spine. "Or, at least I think it is. One more minute, and then we'll give up."  
  
"For you." Reid worked his way into another slow kiss as Langly's fingers traced lines along his back, and as his hips came up and met those fingers, he realised exactly what Langly was doing.  
  
"Harder," he demanded, breathing the word against Langly's teeth, driving himself into the warmth of Langly's body as if to demonstrate the word. The sudden heat, like sun-warmed serpents waking between his hips, sent shocks up his spine that seemed to land behind his eyes. This was what he'd been missing. This was what he'd lost in not being able to focus on what he was doing, instead of what he feared might happen, after the earlier problems in the barn, the visceral need coiling in the base of his gut. The sense that if he didn't make this stop, he'd be swept away entirely. But, just maybe, that was exactly what he wanted.  
  
Nothing mattered outside the bruising rhythm of his hips against Langly's, possibly literally bruising, but he tried not to think too much about that, as Langly panted broken demands for more into his mouth. There were a lot of things he wanted in life, but in that moment, the only one that seemed important was pursuing the aching pleasure that pounded through his veins, following it where Langly so obviously led, every desperate half-syllable another enticement. And this time, when Langly arched, Reid followed him down, warm waves blotting out any thoughts beyond the sparks of passion breaking against the inside of his skin.  
  
Dizzy and spent, Reid tried to curl up against Langly's chest.  
  
"Absolutely not. Get off me." Langly tried to unfold his legs, pushing Reid up.  
  
Reid whined, disconsolately.  
  
"Still wearing boxers. Can't put my legs down."  
  
This time, Reid got up, if barely, stumbling to the side and pouring himself onto the floor beside the bed, his back finally no longer complaining as he pressed it against the wood. He tried to deal with the condom, as he finally managed words, but couldn't convince himself to sit up again, and just left it under the edge of the bed to put in the desk bin once he got up. "Sorry. I'm just... going to stay down here. Put three hours on the alarm, so I can -- so _we_ can -- get a shower before Chaz gets here?"  
  
Langly kicked off his boxers, grabbed Reid's phone off the dresser, and climbed off the bed over him, trailing the blanket in his other hand. He left the phone above Reid's head, and then moved down to wrap himself around Reid's side, head against his shoulder, pulling the blanket up over them both. "Done."  
  
Reid twisted his fingers into the ends of Langly's hair, closing his eyes against the dim light of the room. "You are everything I never knew I wanted, and I'm not just saying that because you managed to push me into an orgasm I didn't think I was going to have. And a whole lot of things I did know I wanted and was absolutely holding out for. I never dreamed of you, of anyone like you. You were a surprise. And for once, I think I'm okay with that."  
  
"You hate surprises," Langly muttered against Reid's chest.  
  
"But, I love you."


	36. Chapter 36

"Byers, get the door," Langly said, reflexively, but Reid was already up, moving fast enough that Langly stared after him.  
  
"Something's not right, there," Frohike observed. "They're doing that freaky twin thing again, aren't they?"  
  
"I find it's better when I don't ask. The answer's usually yes, and if I need to know, one of them will tell me." Langly shrugged, no less unsettled.  
  
Reid swung the door open to find Chaz on the other side, looking like he'd just gotten off a plane -- tired, stiff, carrying luggage. He started to step back, to let Chaz in, when the bag slipped from Chaz's fingers and both arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, holding him tight. He could feel every shaky breath as Chaz clutched him like a drowning man holding onto a squid. And he knew that wasn't the comparison he wanted, but he couldn't spare the effort to figure out where that thought was going. Instead, he put his arms around Chaz and closed his eyes, feeling for the door between them, the door that had been closed since Christmas, as Chaz sobbed quietly against his neck.  
  
"I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere," Reid promised, breathing slowly as some combination of memory and terror flooded into his mind. And he stepped back and let it go. It didn't belong to him, and anything that didn't involve Chaz probably wasn't his business. Why were there memories that didn't involve-- Oh. Right.  
  
Chaz recoiled, slamming the door in their mind and staggering backward through the door of the farmhouse, hands held defensively in front of him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come--"  
  
Reid bent down and moved the bag into the house, setting it on the floor and kicking it down the hall behind him. "You've shown me worse than this. You're still yourself. You made it here." He held out his hand. "You need to sleep. I'd say you need to eat, but I suspect you've done that, recently. Come in. Let me get you something warm."  
  
Chaz looked longingly after his bag, glanced behind him at the tire tracks from the cab that had left before he even made it up the steps. And then he spotted the other tracks, and his mind struggled to engage with something that wasn't his own internal collapse. "He wasn't kidding about the DEA was he?"  
  
"Well, they haven't shown up _yet_. That was actually the fire department, because no one could find the Sheriff's men." Reid stepped out of the doorway, holding the door open and looking pointedly at Chaz.  
  
"I'm sorry, the _what_?" Chaz took a few deep breaths, pressing his palm against his forehead as if to hold himself up. "I'm not sure I'm hearing you. I scrambled myself pretty hard."  
  
"Fire department. It's a very small town, and we're not even in it, technically. I think. I have to take another look at the map. Things are... well... It's a rural village."  
  
Chaz leaned heavily against the porch rail. "Rural village. Changing the subject now. Coffee?"  
  
"You need to sleep," Reid pointed out. "And that said, I'm not sure I've ever known coffee to keep either of us awake if we didn't want to be."  
  
"Hey, ah, you two want to take this inside and stop letting all the warm air out?" Frohike called from the living room doorway.  
  
"Come out of the snow. There's coffee somewhere. There's always coffee somewhere." Reid held out his hand again, hoping he wasn't going to have to go out there barefoot.  
  
Eyes closed, Chaz nodded and swallowed, finally making it into the house with a few unsteady, cautious steps. As he felt the warmth close in, Reid pulled him out of the way and closed the door, and the motion felt familiar. "What'd you do to your back?"  
  
"Something romantic." The words were sharp and Reid locked the door as punctuation, the snap of the deadbolt suggesting the topic be left alone, but Chaz was never terribly good at taking suggestions he felt like ignoring.  
  
"You got shot in the back, what, a month ago? You know this makes you an idiot, right?" Anything to avoid thinking about himself.  
  
"Me? I'm an idiot?" Reid scoffed, leading Chaz into the front room, away from the rest of the ... family, he supposed, for certain definitions thereof. "Do I need to remind you how you sprained your tongue, last month?"  
  
"If that was romantic, you've been spending way too much time watching vintage porn." Chaz made a ragged sound that he hoped Reid would take for a laugh, as Reid helped him onto a small couch under the window.  
  
"What did you break?" Reid asked, and Chaz knew he'd failed.  
  
"Nothing that needs a splint. Coffee. Seriously. I can't fall asleep again." Unwilling to put his muddy, snowy boots up on the edge of the couch, which had been his first thought, he leaned forward until he could rest his forehead on his knees.  
  
Reid turned around almost straight into Frohike, who was carrying a cup.  
  
"Couldn't help overhearing, in the hall." Frohike put the cup on the arm of the couch. "And keep your feet off the furniture, Villette. Langly gets bitchy about it."  
  
"Langly gets bitchy about _shoes_ on his mother's vintage pseudo-Victorian coffee table, and if we're honest, I'd be the same about it if it were my table." Reid watched Chaz for a moment. "So, yes, you can put your feet up if you take your boots off."  
  
"In a minute, when I can feel all my fingers again," Chaz muttered against his knees.  
  
Reid lowered his voice, knowing it wouldn't make a difference. "Grab a blanket? I don't want to leave him..."  
  
"I'm not going to die. Probably." Chaz hiked up a wet pantleg and picked at his bootlaces. "I have to ... I can't sleep. Not yet. Fell asleep on the plane, and it's a good thing that wasn't a commercial flight. I'm too used to _our_ plane. _We_ , obviously, don't have flight attendants. Langly, unfortunately, flies in ridiculous luxury. "  
  
"No, he doesn't. Not when he's actually in the air. No cabin crew, every time, because that's one more person who'd see him. Which probably means he was trying to be polite, and I shouldn't have to point out that demonstrates a certain amount of affection."  
  
"That poor woman's going to want therapy." Chaz gave up on his boots and half sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he held the coffee in both hands, waiting for his fingers to warm up. "You know how I said I don't really wake up _screaming_ any more? Yeah, about that." He snorted in disgust.  
  
Reid held out his hand, but shook his head, when Langly appeared in the doorway, with a blanket. "There are so many ways that could have actually gone badly."  
  
"No, I didn't wake myself up screaming. Someone else had to wake me up, because I was asleep and I wouldn't stop screaming." Chaz looked up just in time for Reid to wrap the blanket around him. "It's the not waking up that scares me. And I'm worried about her, because she was near me when that happened, and I don't remember any of it."  
  
"Being, you know, asleep," Langly reminded him. "Not real conducive to remembering things that are actually happening."  
  
Reid shot him a strongly displeased look and tried to shoo him out of the room.  
  
"Thank you," Chaz muttered into his coffee. "For the flight and for stating the obvious."  
  
"You look like shit," Langly observed, stepping around Reid into the small room.  
  
"And I feel like shit, so consider that confirmed."  
  
"What happened?" Reid finally asked. "I lost you after Christmas, and whatever shape you might have been in, then, it wasn't this."  
  
"Bad case." And for a moment, Chaz seemed content to leave it at that, focusing on drinking his coffee. "I just kept thinking that one day, I'm going to lose the last shreds of faith in humanity, faith in myself, and that's going to be _me_. And, on the one hand, that's pretty accurate, but on the other hand, our killer was causing people to commit suicide by turning their regrets against them. And I know what he was doing. I can _do_ what he was doing, if ... differently. It's not the same mythology, but in the end, it's the same effect. But, I _don't_ do that. I did something like it _once_ , by accident, and two people died. And yes, they were murderers, but ... It wasn't what I _meant_. No one else seemed terribly broken up about it, but... _you_ know." He looked up at Reid, who nodded.  
  
"Sometimes you want there to be an easier way."  
  
"Okay, so... what, you kicked this guy's ass, but you still want to kill yourself?" Langly asked, with his usual lack of tact, turning an arm chair and dropping into it.  
  
Still looking at Reid, Chaz cocked his head toward Langly and nodded. "I thought I'd made it through. Even in the airport, I thought I'd shaken off the worst of what he could do. There was nothing there I hadn't already lost sleep over. Nothing new, no new angles. Same old shit, new day. But, I forgot that no one ever killed themselves right after talking to him. There was a lag. Hours, usually. As much as a day. People just went about their business until they tried to go to sleep. It's why all the deaths were in hotel rooms."  
  
"And you fell asleep on the plane." Reid's head tipped back, eyes closed. "You're worried you, for lack of a better word, infected the flight attendant. Except that you were asleep, and you know you can't do that while you're sleeping, unless it's _me_. And I have _definitely_ slept since the last time you have. I think. Or at least I was sleeping while you were sleeping. Either way, you've been entirely opaque to me since Christmas, with the exception of that few seconds by the door."  
  
"I'm so tired, and I was so happy not to be alone with it, I just..." Chaz shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's probably not safe to be around me, right now. If I'd realised, I wouldn't have called. I'd have... I don't know. Something else."  
  
He did know. But, admitting he'd have spent his medical leave in Idlewood wasn't something he wanted to do. It wasn't something he wanted to _think_. But, it probably would have been the safest way out -- he knew they had staff who could deal with it. He'd trained half of them. But, not one of them was as stable as Reid, and he damn well knew it. And yet? It wasn't Reid's problem, or it shouldn't have been.  
  
"Tell me how it works." Reid shifted his weight, still staring at the ceiling through his eyelids. "You're too tired for this, but I've at least had more rest than you have. Less coffee, though. Langly?"  
  
Langly snorted and yelled toward the door. "Hey, Frohike, put up another pot of coffee, will you? And then maybe take Byers and go upstairs. And like... don't look directly at Villette, something something unpredictable side effects."  
  
Byers sighed loudly enough to be heard down the hall. "There's two of you and a problem. I'll cook."  
  
"Thank you." Chaz sounded every bit as tired as he was, but he thought that might be loud enough to be heard down the hall. He finished sitting up and leaned back on the couch letting himself slide down and rest his shoulders on the back. The couch was too short. He was too tall. Everything about the situation was wrong. "You want to know how it works, because you think you can fix it."  
  
Reid made an amused sound. "Me? Probably not. _You_. All I have to do is keep it from killing you. And I really think it has to just be the two of us in the room, just in case you do something... no one else should be looking at."  
  
"Hey, what am I going to say about it? You had to pick me up off the floor after a critical failure involving a _toilet_." Langly shrugged and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Langly, I'm not sure you'd _survive_."  
  
"And I'm just supposed to let you throw yourself in front of that alone? I'm pretty sure there are less fatal ways to be a hero, Reid."  
  
"He's already survived it," Chaz muttered, setting aside his empty cup. "Twice. And I'm not sure 'survive' is ... quite the word I'd use." His eyes flicked to Langly and then back to something that wasn't a person. "Do you remember the two men Alcea got to? It's a lot like that."  
  
Langly looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting for one of them to refute it. "Okay, what the _hell_? You did that to him? You did that to him, and he's still talking to you? What the hell is wrong with the two of you?"  
  
"We've been trying to figure out how far the resistance goes. You know that. This was a dangerous step, but one we were absolutely prepared for, and if I'd _failed_ , Chaz would have stopped before he did serious damage, because we did it on _purpose_." Reid felt bad about lying to Langly. Ever. About anything. But, in this particular case, the truth wouldn't have helped. It was ... sort of on purpose. He'd asked for it, that time, but the execution had come as a surprise to both of them. "But, that involved control, and at the level we're dealing with, I don't think that's something we can promise you. Allie can't touch you. Chaz _can_. I'd like to still have a boyfriend when all this is over."  
  
"So would I," Langly snapped.  
  
"Langly." Reid took the two steps that put him at the foot of Langly's chair and knelt, looking up into confusion, distrust, frustration. "I know you're worried. And you should be, but about yourself. I've done this before. I promise you that I will be okay. We're as certain as it's possible to be that he can't hurt me, unless he's both actively trying and putting quite a bit of effort into it, which isn't what's happening, here. An accident could destroy you. The same accident could make me incredibly uncomfortable for a little while. You don't ask me to help you with computer things, because you know I can't. I need you to trust me when I tell you this is something that I can do that _you_ can't. And I'm not even sure it's going to work, but I am sure _I'm_ not going to come to serious harm in trying. We're _both_ sure you would. I really need you to be safe. I need you to be here for me, when this is all over."  
  
"If you fucking die, I'm gonna kick your ass," Langly spat, jabbing a finger at Reid.  
  
"I promise you, I'm going to be okay. Worst case, I might cry. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count as the kind of 'not okay' we're worried about." Reid offered a weak smile.  
  
"My entire family line died in this house. Please don't die in this house." Langly's hands hovered, not quite touching Reid's face. "I mean, I guess I wasn't related to any of them, but enough people have died in this house."  
  
"Yet another reason for you to step out while we handle this. Didn't you leave Byers checking the facial recognition matches? You have a project, and it's an important one. Let me take care of this, tonight, maybe tomorrow, and then we can join you." Reid tipped his head toward Chaz. "He doesn't know, yet, so you'll have fresh eyes."  
  
Langly swallowed and nodded, his eyes drifting shut. "I'll get the coffee. Don't start until you have it, but I'll keep Frohike and Byers out of your way. What counts as 'concerning noises'?"  
  
"Crying is okay." Chaz looked over with both eyes closed, trying to keep himself together, trying _not_ to see. "Screaming is probably not serious, as long as it's me. If _he's_ screaming, we may have a problem. Other than that, the usual. Things breaking, falling over, that's a sign something has gone wrong, and you should probably _leave_. _He'll_ live. I'll burn out eventually. But, you don't want to get in the middle of it."  
  
"Coffee." Langly decided, opening his eyes again and leaning down to kiss Reid. "But, you have to get up."  
  
Reid stood and stepped back in one motion, turning back to Chaz, even as he caught Langly's hand and squeezed it briefly. "Tell me how it works. We can do this."


	37. Chapter 37

"You don't have to do this." Chaz had wedged himself into the corner of the tiny sofa. At this size, was it even a sofa? Maybe this was a loveseat. Either way, he had coffee, and he'd be awake a few more hours. Probably. Hopefully.  
  
"You're right." Reid pulled Chaz's legs across his own lap, hanging them off the arm of the couch. "I don't. And now that we've gotten that out of the way..."  
  
"I'm really not sure this is a good idea. If it was _just_ Weaver fucking with my head, I know we could do this. But, I did some things I've almost never done _intentionally_ , and I have a lot of--"  
  
"From the hospital. You said that."  
  
"It's enough to make _me_ unstable. I'm afraid of what it's going to do to you." Chaz stretched to set his cup on the table, realised that was a terrible idea, and put it on the floor, instead. The last thing he needed to do on top of everything else was fuck up the finish on one of Langly's tables.  
  
"Okay, there's a fundamental error in your approach. You had to experience these memories, to inspect them. You were looking for a murderer." Reid rested a hand on Chaz's knee. "I don't have to know. They're not yours, and I _can_ tell the difference. All I need to do is be aware that they exist and keep you from drowning in them. I got a quick look, when you first came in, because I wasn't sure what I was looking at, for a second, and then my concern was entirely _you_ under all of it. I'm not you. I don't have to know them the same way you do. I just have to know _you_. This is the same problem we had with Allie's abductors. There's just more of it, this time, and we're both better at it."  
  
"And we're actually kissing on purpose, this time," Chaz joked, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"And it's a good thing we are, because I think that's going to _help_. You need good memories of being _yourself_. I mean, I could hand you a few good memories of being _me_ , but I don't think that's going to work, this time. At least not once we get down to Weaver's ... trap? I can drown out the _noise_ with my own memories, but I think getting out of that has to be _you_."  
  
"I can't believe I'm going to let you do this, but I am." Chaz adjusted the blanket, to make sure Reid wasn't going to freeze because he was hogging it. And he knew Reid would let him hog it, too. "Spencer?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"You come to me. I think it might give me a little more control."  
  
"Considering this entire exercise is to put you back in control, I think that's a good idea." Reid took one of Chaz's hands and reached into the space that joined them. "Don't worry about me. You can't hurt me unless you mean to."  
  
And Chaz wasn't so sure that was as true as they wanted to believe it was. The Anomaly was having a fucking field day with the suffering of a couple dozen people, back and forth behind his eyes. He'd walked right into that. In another time and place he'd done the same for a lot longer, but he hadn't been in a hospital, and he hadn't been looking for a killer. That time, there hadn't been anyone to help him, and he felt a bit of a fool for it, now. But, he reminded himself that that time it had been only one thing, albeit one that led straight into the next. But, for all the days he burned straight through and all the weight he lost doing it, there was so much less immediacy. There wasn't something waiting if he couldn't make it happen by a relatively short deadline -- a matter of hours. He'd had months to make himself presentable again. He'd had years to make sure he got that second stage _right_. Years he sometimes felt bad for reliving so well.  
  
And then the light was on him, in him, a dim glow in the murky depths of the bog of memory that filled him. And he reached out and invited it in.  
  
The first flickers took him by surprise -- bright flashes of uncomplicated joy, like the combustion of swamp gas. The memories didn't last long, but he didn't think they were supposed to. Not yet, anyway. Reid was finding his footing in the dark. The next one he recognised -- one of his own. A beautiful woman smiling at him in a nightclub. He'd thought he loved her, once. Maybe he had. He'd been so quick to fall, before history changed and the future followed. He'd been so easy and so fragile. Sometimes, he missed it.  
  
And as the melancholy swelled, it was like a lure, and more memories of bittersweet and could-have-been rose up over him, a crushing wave... that parted around a birthday cake. One of the ice cream ones from the store. One of the ones that meant Dad remembered to-- this wasn't his. This was Spencer's, he thought, as he recognised the shape of the kitchen and the smiling woman holding the candle lighter. There was hope, here. A sense that maybe for a little while, everything would be okay. Maybe forever, if he closed his eyes and wished hard, when he blew out the candles. Irrational? Absolutely. But, he'd -- they'd -- take any help he could get.  
  
That one ended abruptly, and the tears and shame poured in to fill the gap. But, the next one came faster. Sitting at the corner of the breakfast table with Langly, the smell of pancakes and scrambled eggs still hanging in the air, quietly holding hands under the corner of the table. The conversation was meaningless noise, something important, from the expressions around the table, but not as important as the way every detail of Langly's face etched itself into his memory, the way the light through the window glowed against his hair, made his skin look almost translucent. Breathtaking. And that incredible diffuse warmth that seemed to blossom like the cream in coffee as they watched him, completely enraptured.  
  
He turned away from that one on his own, pained that it wasn't his own. He'd felt that way, but never about Langly, and even being _offered_ that warm adoration made him feel immediately out of place. But, the light was around him, now. No matter where he turned, a fresh memory greeted him, and most of them were simple, pleasant things -- good coffee, simple successes, lying naked in bed in the middle of a summer day and _just going back to sleep_. He was sure that last one was his own.  
  
Grief and guilt nipped at his heels, pushing through the cracks between things, but nearly none of it belonged to him. And, as Spencer had said, he didn't need to know it any more. He couldn't forget it, but he could bury most of it. It just seemed unending. The cascade of nightmares swept past him, with little more than the occasional catch and flicker, and he knew that would stop in a couple of days. It always did. He just didn't really _have_ a couple of days.  
  
But, Spencer had been right. They'd learned something in the nightmares -- with enough light, the mirror became a very different kind of dangerous, and Chaz let it flow through him, savouring the quiet simplicity of Spencer's memories. Muted sunlight, quiet music, and page after page of seven-hundred-year-old humour. Barely enough light to see and a bowl of onion soup. A cup of tea in a hot bath. Someone else's good memories, lived by a person whose hands he knew almost as well as his own.  
  
"Look at you," said a voice from behind him, tinged with pride and wonder. "You are almost everything I thought you would be. But, you just keep holding on to the flesh. You just keep clinging to the clay. You can't let this husk hold you back."  
  
Pain exploded down his back, burning, the smell of blood and salt, sweat and fire. He tried to blink away the tears, but it felt like a crumbling crust of salt. The visions were hidden, but he could hear them, miserable sobbing drowning out the French ballads he was finally getting used to. At some point, he realised the deafening screaming that seemed to underlay everything was his own.  
  
Reid found himself sitting on the couch, perfectly aware of his own body and only his own body. Things had been going well. He'd almost gotten himself into a rhythm that would fill the gaps as soon as they opened. The next step would've been to start focusing more on _Chaz's_ memories. But... he was back in his own mind, alone. As he reached out, again, thinking maybe they'd both just relaxed a little too much, Chaz arched and screamed like he'd been stabbed.  
  
It was beginning again. Whatever had happened on the plane, and Reid believed that Chaz had been right about it -- that it was Weaver's work -- it was happening again.  
  
He pushed out toward Chaz again, trying to find anything familiar, anything that he could recognise, but it was like beating his head against the rubber mats in a playground, just enough to make one's nose bleed, but not enough to break anything. He drew on a memory Chaz had shared with him, if mostly by accident -- coming home with Hafidha, for the first time. It wasn't uncomplicated and joyful, but it was triumphant. A thumbed nose at all the rules. Chaz had broken the system and gotten away with it. Which, really, was what they paid him to do.  
  
And the blackness gave way in a wall of flame. The smell of smoke and roses was overpowering, and under it sick-sweat and fermentation, a smell Reid wished he didn't know. But he knew where he was. They'd been here before. All he could hear was the crackle of flame.  
  
No. This would not stand. The fire burned bright, but _he_ was the light. Show the mirror something worth reflecting...  
  
There were two choices, here -- two memories that belonged to Chaz that he thought might carry enough power to get him a foothold in the onslaught. Two memories that might put a crack in the memory of flame. Dream of flame? No, Reid was pretty sure this was a memory, if one amplified in its most horrific aspects, which meant the worst was still on the other side of the fire, no matter what angle he approached it from. One of those memories he didn't want to use, for his own sake. The other... he was not entirely comfortable with using in these circumstances, but he had to try something, and this one wouldn't drag his own fears with it.  
  
Looking down at himself on the edge of the table, over Langly's shoulder, the towering cake down the other end holding up remarkably well against the constant jarring of the table. His own sensations, Chaz's sensations, only Langly hadn't been part of them, and he'd been caught between them. They'd been a single mind for most of that, one mind, two bodies, and an orgasm unlike anything they'd felt before, but had repeated many times since. But, that second time they'd been together was really when it had crystallised.  
  
When his vision turned white instead of black, Chaz wondered for a moment if he'd finally gone blind from the pain. It was like staring into the light of heaven, if he'd believed in any such thing, but given the direction things were going around here, it wasn't a bad guess. That radiance was brilliant, cold, welcoming. It wasn't fire, and really, that was what mattered. The last time he'd seen something like it, he'd been on the verge of death. He'd managed to mistake Falkner for his mother, which was, perhaps, not one of his better moments.  
  
But, it was light, and he knew what to do with light.  
  
He hoped Spencer could keep up, wherever he was. He hoped they were right.  
  
There was pain and fear and blood and _light_. A hundred angles, a thousand facets, his shoulders strained with the weight, with the agony, and he couldn't tell what was real, any more, and he supposed it didn't actually matter. He'd either win this, or he'd die. That was real enough. But, as expected, the first reflections weren't the stark brightness that blotted out the flames, but the red of his own memories and the dozens of people from the hospital -- staff, patients, Weaver. None of it was Spencer's, and while disappointing, that did mean he hadn't accidentally caught him. Where the hell was Spencer?  
  
And then the reflections began to shift -- not necessarily things he wanted to remember or think about pretty much ever, but every one of them some kind of triumph, no matter how painful. The taste of blood on the back of his teeth churned and shifted, first something horrible that reminded him of coffee after mouthwash. Probably better than blood, but blood was somehow less offensive to his senses. He'd tasted enough of it over the years. ... Throwing the vest on the ground and walking away. Another triumph, on paper, but that one had been empty somehow. As the thought crossed his mind, a better memory followed. A vicious, half-crazed, blood-stained memory about which he had no regrets. Well, except maybe the passing out and waking up in a hospital room part. That was less than ideal.  
  
"There you are, my son." The voice behind him, somehow still behind him, spoke again. "There you are risen to your true glory. You'll be the one of us to cast aside the clay and return to what we were meant to be."  
  
Chaz turned, the taste of ginger thick on his tongue, tension holding him upright as the smell of fermenting fruit crept low across his perceptions. He turned on The Relative to find the man intact, the only blood on him Chaz's own. The room distorted around them, the walls and flame and roses giving way to clouds and marble and the blackness of absolute nothingness, stretching into infinity. Almost reminded him of something, but he didn't have time to remember. "I am no part of you."  
  
"Pride like that and you'll fall again. I made you, and she stole you from me. But, I knew you'd come home. You'll always come home."  
  
"You tried and you failed, because I've always been more than you could handle. You thought you could shape me in your image. But, I am no part of you." Chaz could feel the rage beneath his skin as if his blood had boiled. He half-expected to see his skin peel off at the heat and the churning, which was among the multitude of reasons he didn't look down. He also wouldn't take his eyes off The Relative. He was never making that mistake again. " _Adeline_ made me. And you tried to change me. You tried. But, I became something you never _dreamed_."  
  
"You are one of the Host raised up from down among the nephilim!" The Relative smiled rapturously.  
  
"I am _broken glass_." Chaz wasn't sure if it was a smile or a grimace, but he'd definitely bared his teeth, feeling the weight of memory swing around behind him, the reflections mostly no longer red, but white and gold against the red shards that cast them. "I am a nightmare, and people love me _anyway_. They love me enough to fight for me."  
  
And he wondered where the hell that had come from, but he supposed it was true. Hafs, Lau, Falkner... _Duke_. No matter what he did to himself, they came for him. They brought him home. Really home, not this nightmare of a heritage better lost. And now Spencer, who had knowingly walked into this with him, and Langly, who'd tried his damnedest to do anything that might be useful. It wasn't his fault he wasn't cut out for this. No one really was. But, there was more than just acceptance, there. These were his friends. These were people who cared enough to endanger themselves to rescue him from things he shouldn't have been doing alone. Not that he knew that when he walked into them, or he'd have brought backup in the first damned place.  
  
He thought the shadows shifted, but the shadows were gone. The reflections shifted, and he realised every one of those memories was Spencer's, and they were all memories of _him_. People looking at him, talking to him, the way Nikki absently rested her hand on his shoulder when she was talking to Brady, the way Falkner always gave him more than enough rope to hang himself and then cut him down when he did, so many of Hafidha teasing him. And there was Spencer looking at him, a thoughtful gaze, wondering, appreciating, but he was right. There wasn't even the faintest hint of fear. They needed to have another talk about that. They needed to have a talk about a lot of things. But, right now, he needed to watch this ghost of The Relative melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, in the light that had been brought into the deepest depths.  
  
He felt shame, but it didn't belong to him, and he pushed it aside. Regret followed, but that wasn't his either. Then came the pride, and he was tempted by it. He'd done this. _They'd_ done this. But it wouldn't have had to be done if he hadn't fucked up with Weaver, so the pride didn't belong either. Relief. He'd take relief. That was probably actually his own.  
  
The wings folded as he fell to his knees. Something smelled like cider and burning sugar, and he was sure that wasn't a good sign. But, he was still alive, and that counted for a lot. All he had to do was find his way back out of his own mind. Shouldn't be hard. He lived here. As he waved a hand, trying to clear the dream? delusion? a silver ball about the size of his fist appeared across from him, too far to read the words engraved on it. No matter, that would go, too. None of this hellscape was real. Deep breaths and his own memories, and it would clear. He just needed to wake up.  
  
Just before his eyes finally opened on the dim room with the uncomfortable couch, the silver ball vanished, and he found Spencer, exhausted, kneeling in its place.  
  
"Did we get it?"  
  
Chaz nodded, and Spencer faded, leaving the passage between them open. Things were almost right with the world, aside from the part where Chaz finally recognised the smell.


	38. Chapter 38

"I am so tired," Chaz groaned, trying to slide down further on the tiny sofa he was much too tall to be stretched down the length of.  
  
"Are you stable? I can call the living room and see who's still up to bring you something to eat, and then you should probably actually sleep." Reid let Chaz take his hand, under the blanket still draped across them.  
  
"I know it's over. I know I also really don't want to sleep, after that." Chaz tipped his head back, his free hand covering his eyes. "But, yeah. Food."  
  
"I need my hand back, because I can't reach my phone like this."  
  
Chaz let go, fished Reid's phone out of his pocket, and handed it to him. "I had the better angle. You still wouldn't have been able to get it. This couch does not bend."  
  
"Thank you." It was unnecessary, but Reid made a point of saying it, before he hit the button that would call Langly. "We're okay. Everything's resolved, aside from some minor concerns about food and sleep."  
  
Chaz spaced out, as Reid continued to reassure Langly that they'd come to no meaningful harm. And they hadn't, really, but the choice of memories still bothered him, the idea that Weaver had gotten far enough in to _find_ that... Of course, there was always the chance he _hadn't_. That, like Allie, he could hit his target every time, but would never know what it was. But, that didn't sound right. That didn't feel right. Weaver had admitted to being drawn by the darker emotions of his targets, whether the ones he was helping or the ones he hurt to accomplish that help. So, really, it was fairly likely that Weaver did know, and a damned good thing he wouldn't be seeing the world outside Idlewood again, for a long time. The last thing Chaz needed was anything about that affair becoming public knowledge. It was bad enough that he had to remember it. It was worse that his team knew. On some level, it should have been terrifying that Reid not only knew, but published an analysis of the case based on the official reports, but that was just the official reports, and those were heavily redacted. 'Yeah, haha, I inherited a house and got my ass kicked by a serial rapist.' Not flattering, but also not the whole truth. Not the devastating actuality of who that really was or what he'd become in that place.  
  
"You still awake?" Reid asked.  
  
"Yeah. What's--"  
  
The door swung open on Langly awkwardly balancing a tray with several large containers, plates and silverware jammed between them. "Okay, step one. You put food in your face, while I kiss my boyfriend. We can figure out the rest after."  
  
"I'd help you with that, but you don't want me to." Chaz managed to sit up, struggling with the blanket as he got his legs out of Reid's way. "I'm not sure I should be holding anything I can spill for another twenty minutes or so."  
  
Langly got the tray onto the table without dropping anything and tossed a towel-wrapped bundle into Chaz's lap. "Bread first. It's just plain, regular bread, but you can probably dip it in half the things on here. There's some pasta with whatever the hell tomato-based sorcery Frohike made, the big bucket is Byers's chicken soup, there's half a tater-tot casserole in the pan under the soup, block of cheese, four cans of Jolt, this might be some kind of Italian pickle something? I don't know. We were busy. Yes, the other half of the food is in the kitchen. Yes, we ate."  
  
Chaz held out a hand as he unwrapped a heavy, round loaf of bread with the other hand. "Jolt, first."  
  
"How long were we in here, that you made _bread_?" Reid asked, as Langly handed Chaz a can and unpacked the tray across the coffee table.  
  
"Three hours, maybe? We were getting nervous. I was maybe a little _more_ nervous when the screaming _stopped_. It just got way too quiet in here." Langly looked at the assorted containers and dishes on the table as he rounded it to perch on the arm of the couch at Reid's side. "Shit. No bowls. Coffee mugs, I guess."  
  
Reid reached up and grabbed the sleeve of Langly's shirt, pulling as he folded his hand around the cloth, his arm unmoving. Langly squeaked and fell into his lap, twisting sideways in an effort to keep his balance.  
  
"I'm okay," Reid promised, putting his arms around Langly's waist, resting his head against Langly's shoulder. "And if I have to do it again, I will."  
  
"If I never have to do that again, it'll be too soon," Chaz muttered, his mouth full of bread.  
  
"I'm curious how the hell this guy thought he was going to get _you_ to step off a building or something. I mean, of all the dumb shit he could do, he picks a guy who's walked through the gates of hell three or four times and keeps coming back whistling." Langly rolled his eyes.  
  
"It's extremely hard to whistle while you're intubated. Just in case you ever need to know that."  
  
"Harder than talking with your mouth full," Reid teased, tipping his head back expectantly.  
  
Chaz ignored the kissing going on next to him as best he could without completely blocking Reid out again. "Once in my life, I wanted to die. Just once. Not just didn't want to live, wouldn't mind if I dropped dead, but really actively wanted to stop living as quickly as possible. Which is a lot harder than it looks, for the record. Weaver found that and handed it back to me. We buried it again, which is what you do with a fire that won't go out."  
  
Langly broke the kiss he was in the middle of, words falling off his wet lips as his eyes jumped to Chaz. "Fire-- Was that the jumping out the window one or the one in Texas?"  
  
Chaz froze, coffee cup dunked halfway into the chicken soup, eyes burning as he swallowed the first words that sprung to mind. "I should've expected that."  
  
"You rifled my fucking brains, asshole. Yeah, you should have." Langly huffed, folding his arms. "We didn't know each other, yet. You were in my _head_. Hell yes, I was in your files. And you'll notice I like you anyway."  
  
"Not that I'm sure _why_." Chaz snorted and ripped off another chunk of bread to dunk in the soup. "Rifled your brains, fucked your boyfriend, showed up in the middle of the night and put everyone in the house in danger..."  
  
"Please, that last one's just a Tuesday night in our house. And you didn't just fuck my boyfriend, you fucked me, too, and I happen to like the way you fuck, so how pissed can I justifiably get about that? That first one, though? I'm gonna die mad."  
  
"Texas," Chaz said, changing the subject back. "It was Texas."  
  
"Can't be easy finding out your uncle's a serial rapist." Langly tried to sympathise. Really, actually put forth the effort for a change.  
  
"My father," Chaz corrected, after a moment's pause. " _Both_."  
  
"Holy _shit_." Langly just stared. "And just when I start thinking that being a fucking clone gives me the weirdest family history in the room..."  
  
"No, it totally still does. You're the weirdo, here, Langly." Chaz barely managed to finish swallowing the soup before the laugh hit. He put down the bread, wiped his hand, and reached for Langly's hand. "And I'm lucky to be friends with a weirdo like you."  
  
"Says the psychic weirdo." Langly rolled his eyes, but squeezed Chaz's hand.  
  
"Hey, takes one to know one, right?"  
  
Reid looked from one of them to the other. "I just want to take a moment to enjoy being the most normal person in the room."  
  
"Pssh. You're a serial killer waiting to happen, and I'm just glad I'm nothing like your victim type." Langly elbowed him in the chest.  
  
Reid stilled and Chaz could feel him draw back. "I know. And you're really not, which is good, because _I like you_."  
  
Chaz eyed Reid strangely. "You already know--"  
  
"So do you." Reid shot him a knowing look. "It's not going to be a surprise to either of us, if it happens to either of us. You can see from here what the last straw is going to be, if it comes. Not in the specific, but the general sense of it. You know what it would take to make you lose control, because that's how you keep it."  
  
"I thought I knew." Chaz shook his head, fingers slipping from Langly's grip.  
  
"You still do. You're still sitting here, and I'm fine." Reid tipped his head. "Tired, but fine. But, I was tired when you got here, so that doesn't count."  
  
Chaz looked like he'd say something else about it, but picked up the bread he'd put down and dipped it in the soup again, looking up at Langly. "Okay, so, what's his victim profile going to be?"  
  
"Belligerent assholes in power," Langly answered without a moment's pause. "People who have power and use it to protect themselves from the backlash from the honestly probably physical harm they're doing to other people, because no one wants to stand up to the kind of influence they wield, because it's actually dangerous. Bets on the first one being a bad cop."  
  
Chaz held up a finger. "Bollinger, but with more murder."  
  
"Bollinger, but with more common god damn sense and decency," Langly snapped, "so, basically, not Bollinger at all."  
  
Reid cleared his throat, giving Chaz a pained look. "I just want you to know that every time I get angry enough to want to defenestrate someone, I'm going to think of Bollinger. Congratulations, you've furthered the course of justice, or something."  
  
"I was going to ask why defenestration, and then I realised you almost always have a window." Chaz tried to smile, but he wasn't sure he managed it, so he gave up and drank more soup. "Not really my first choice, but I have a thing about windows."  
  
"It's a long way down. Whole seconds to reflect on the choices that got them there." Reid shook his head. "All these years, and I'm surrounded by people who honestly imagine me to be without wrath, without guile. Profilers, and somehow, they're always _surprised_ when I'm angry. I really think that goes beyond 'don't profile your co-workers'." He glanced at Chaz. "But, we should be talking about you, not me."  
  
"No, we should absolutely be talking about anything that's not me. I don't want to talk about me. I don't want to think about me. Right now, I could honestly do without being me, but being me puts me inches from your fascinatingly weird, outrageously hot boyfriend, so it's a lot more tolerable than it might be." Chaz's lips quirked as he leaned over to open the pasta. "Let's talk about _him_."  
  
"Okay, so, me? Oh, I'm fuckin' _great_." Langly rolled his eyes. "My only relative is Mary. None of our family is related to either of us. We tracked down some stuff that points to a clinic that shut down in the late eighties, but pretty much everyone involved is either dead, missing, or a janitor. So, Byers got this bug up his ass, because this clinic was a pretty big deal around here, well... 'around here'. In like half of Nebraska. So, he decided to run a loose facial recognition on a combination of my face and Mary's versus the DMV."  
  
"There's more of you." It was obvious, now that he thought of it, but Chaz couldn't wipe the shock off his face. Not because there could be more of Langly, but because he was sure they hadn't found all of The Relative's victims. There could be more of _him_. It was the kind of thing that had crossed his mind a few times, but never quite at this angle. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered if Reyes knew.  
  
"That's kind of what we're trying to figure out. Someone that remembers might still be alive, _besides my aunt and uncle_. Because I really don't want to have to ask them. I really don't want to have to walk into that house and tell them ... anything." Langly snatched a piece of bread from Chaz's lap, taking a huge bite and gesturing irritatedly with it. "I'm either going to walk in there and tell them I'm not dead, or I'm going to walk in there and try to tell them I'm not _me_."  
  
"I think avoiding either option is the correct choice, at this time," Reid agreed, eyeing the table full of food he couldn't reach with Langly in his lap. "Although, it could be said that your status as an unknown might get them to say something. That is, if you don't go, but Mary asks them and mentions you. Or perhaps the others, if you find any others."  
  
"At the same time, they're old, they've raised a tremendously successful daughter, and they -- as far as we know -- genuinely believe she's their blood. What is it going to do to a family, if you bring them evidence of ... functionally an adoption the _parents_ didn't know about?" Chaz handed his half-finished plate of pasta to Reid and leaned over to grab another plate for himself. "We all know Spencer and I are the proof of why biological parentage matters, which is to say, in probably eighty percent of cases it _doesn't_ , because most people aren't fucking mutants or genetically predisposed to devastating neuropsychological conditions -- sorry, but you know it's true -- but popular opinion says otherwise. Popular culture wants us to believe that a genetic relationship trumps everything else, and I'll tell you something: it took me a while to shake that, too, so..."  
  
"Again, you're kind of the exception," Langly reminded him.  
  
Chaz shook his head, while he finished chewing. "Only in that I shouldn't try to have children. Not in the ways that matter. I mean, that matters, but... only to _me_. Otherwise, really, like all of us, I was shaped by the people who raised me, whether or not I was related to them. And some of them are forever grateful they're not related to me." He cleared his throat and went back to eating.  
  
"So they could give you back." Langly laughed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, my parents weren't so lucky. They couldn't get rid of me, until I left."  
  
Reid pointed at Chaz with his fork. "I think you're the only one of us who stayed. I went to college; he ran away from home."  
  
"The thing about being hungry is it makes you stupid," Chaz said, quietly, around a mouthful of pasta. "I left a few times, a few days, here and there. Got into trouble for it, of course, but I always came home hungry and 'go to bed with no dinner' was a real popular choice, as was being grounded. You know what you can't do if you're grounded?"  
  
Reid knew before the question was asked. "Sneak into buffets and pretend you're part of someone else's group."  
  
"Big enough group, no-one even notices. Slip in with a tour, and nobody knows anyone else, anyway. Nobody looks, nobody cares." Chaz held up a finger and ate more pasta. "But, it took me longer to figure out that if I played the game, there was a way out. You picked that up faster."  
  
"My mother is an academic. 'Out' was staring me in the face, every day." Reid chewed quietly, contemplatively. "Except it wasn't even out. It was _up_. I wanted her to be proud of me. And... that's actually why I didn't go into medieval literature. I already knew most of the material, and being my mother's son, I'd have carried her with me the whole way through. Her achievements, her arguments, would end up projected onto me in some way, and I had no way of predicting which way that would go. So, I took the easy way out."  
  
"The easy way. Says the guy with more PhDs than me." Chaz teased, one hand over his mouth.  
  
"Listen, I didn't even finish high school," Langly pointed out. "You might as well be speaking French."  
  
"You could've taken that in high school." Chaz peered around the containers on the table. "Where'd you put the casserole?"  
  
"This end. Here, give me your plate, so you don't drop it all over the floor." Langly took the plate and went to work filling it. "You look better, speaking of being hungry. You _sound_ better."  
  
"I'll live." Chaz shrugged and took the plate back. "So, what are we doing about the clinic and the clones, to stop talking about me, again?"  
  
"We don't even know there are clones," Langly reminded him, getting casserole for himself. "Byers is still working on that. But, hey, the two of you are feds. Can we make this a fed thing? Can we pretend this is a fed thing?"  
  
"Did Garcia get back to you about whether this is already a fed thing?" Reid asked, stealing a forkful of casserole from Langly's plate. "Because that could give us something to work with. Investigating an old case that slipped between the cracks, years ago. Of course, the local field office is going to, ah..."  
  
"Shit a brick," Chaz filled in. "They will shit a fucking brick. They will shit enough bricks to build an outhouse. Also, we're on vacation. Well, you're on vacation. I'm on medical leave."  
  
"I could fix it so they know, but they don't actually _know_ ," Langly offered.  
  
"Did I not say something about not doing anything illegal where I'm going to see it?" Reid complained, stealing another bite of casserole. It was good enough that he considered actually getting some for himself.  
  
Langly looked like he might say something about the casserole, but just dumped another serving onto his plate. "It's less illegal if Her Majesty does it."  
  
"I like that option, if we end up going with the old case approach." Chaz nodded, spooning the... he couldn't tell what it was, but it looked like vegetables and a lot of oil onto his plate. "It covers our asses without actually alerting anyone that we're looking at it. On the other hand, do we get a better response with an old case or with the twins? There's something to be said for entirely unsubtle proof showing up at the door."  
  
"I'd rather go with the old case," Langly mumbled around way too much potato. "Mary having a twin is going to be a disaster. It _will_ get back to her parents, and then we're back to talking to my aunt and uncle."  
  
"Food, sleep, and then we'll see what Garcia sent you, and make a decision," Reid decided, stealing more casserole.  
  
"You know there's sour cream in this, right?" Langly looked sideways at him.  
  
"If I were eating as much of it as you are, I might care."


	39. Chapter 39

"Okay, we have transcended directly into the single most awkward and bizarre situation I never imagined." Langly pulled one of the blankets up, curling up under Chaz's chin, where they lay on the rug. Reid's fingers caressed his elbow, a bit of a reach from Chaz's other side.  
  
"What, sleeping on the floor of your childhood bedroom with two lovers, wrapped in your parents' quilts never made the radar? I'm shocked! Shocked, I say!" Chaz teased, rubbing his foot against Reid's leg.  
  
Reid raised his lips from Chaz's shoulder to ask, "Is this actually weirder than on my living room floor with my mother's bedspread, while the rugs still had glass in them? Because if it is, I'm pretty sure it's not by much."  
  
"We're never sleeping on that floor again," Langly muttered against Chaz's chest.  
  
Chaz made a small sound of amusement, pulling Langly closer. "Finally putting your foot down, huh? We'll see how long that lasts, once you're back in DC."  
  
"Oh. We didn't tell you." Reid pushed himself up so he could see Chaz's face. "He bought me a bed for Christmas. It's big enough for all three of us, and I'm pretty sure you'll have a hard time falling out of it, from the photos."  
  
Chaz groaned, rolling onto his back and pulling Langly with him. He gestured for Reid to take the other shoulder. "That's going to be almost as amazing as my bed."  
  
"More amazing," Langly insisted, eyes closed as he tried to get comfortable again.  
  
"It's not more amazing because breakfast still involves Spencer's kitchen."  
  
"There is nothing wrong with my kitchen!" Reid wrapped himself around Chaz's side, holding Langly's hand on Chaz's chest.  
  
"There is everything wrong with your kitchen, except the part where I keep putting food in it. Your kitchen was designed for midget gerbils, and you have like two pots," Langly argued, half asleep already. "Tell him I'm right!"  
  
"You're right," Chaz mumbled, pressing his face against the top of Reid's head. "Kitchen's next. Bed first. Sleeping now."

* * *

Chaz slept, slowly discovering that Reid had stayed awake, beside him. No matter what else faded from his unconscious mind, the thought that Spencer was with him, still _protecting_ him, stayed clear, vivid, like a sigil burned into the back of his eyelids to keep the nightmares away. And the nightmares would not be so easily forced back, but they kept changing around him. The heat, the choking smell of smoke -- and then he was leaning over Brady's shoulder, critiquing the steaks on the grill. Grass and sunshine. Hafs and Nikki laughing behind him. Whatever his own mind could throw at him, Spencer managed to twist into something else. Crisp, sharp memories of being happy, even if he was occasionally sure it was someone else's happiness -- faces he didn't know, places he recognised, but not at those angles.  
  
And then came the reflections of himself in other people's eyes and minds. He'd always tried so hard not to see _himself_. Well, usually. But, there were always accidents, a few intentional queries. Hospitals were never easy, when he was still trying to get back into his own head, and everyone was staring, poking and prodding. But, he stood around himself, now, twenty or thirty distinct versions of him staring back, watching, judging. Almost all of them looked hungry, which was probably fair and relatively accurate. Some of them were naked; all of those were oddly flattering and much better looking than he was. A lot of them looked sickly. There seemed to be a nearly even split between fragile and monstrous, though a few straddled that line like starving dogs. And in every pair of eyes -- his own eyes! though other people had tendency to imagine they matched -- he found an accusation. Rarely that he'd done wrong. Often that he'd failed to do right or right _enough_. Except the one. Oh, the one. One of the nudes, strangely beautiful and wholly monstrous, half someone else's and half his own wholehearted loathing of himself and what he'd done. She'd loved him so completely. He'd used her to create a world in which they'd never meet, and he'd be the only one who remembered. And looking at the version of himself she'd seen and loved, he wished he could forget. He could have had what he'd always wanted, what he'd always dreamed, but he abandoned it and burned it to the ground behind him in pursuit of something he wanted _more_.  
  
It changed him. It changed the _world_.  
  
There was no reasonable choice, once he found what he'd been looking for. There was no choice that could be called good or right. So, he traded his dreams and the chance at happiness he'd been handed for the lives of four people. And he had regrets. So many regrets. But, most of them were that he'd been so distracted, in the first place, by the death he couldn't figure out how to reverse without screwing everything up _more_ , that he'd let the situation occur to begin with. Regrets that he hadn't been prepared. Regrets, in the aftermath, about where he'd chosen to fix the timeline. Break the timeline. He could've saved more people, if he'd picked a better point. But, he hadn't, because while grief is a powerful motivator, it makes some fucking stupid choices. He'd wondered about the Anomaly's influence, there, later. There were better endings to that story that would've taken much less effort and repetition, on his part. But, he'd been fixated, and he made his choice. And now he had to live with it. With this memory of someone else's memory of him.  
  
The space between him and the other twenty-something of him grew smaller, filled with the echoes of accusation and regret. He was none of these things. He was all of these things. He was drowning in himself, and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse than smothering in smoke. It could be worse. It could be-- he was going to say 'real', but with something like this, it was already exactly as real as it needed to be. It felt real. The memories of memories were real. It was all things he'd done, things he hadn't done, decisions that didn't go far enough. His eyes closed, as he tried to block it out, but being in his head in his head wasn't helping at all. They were all still there. They were all still angry, _disappointed_.  
  
Warm hands grabbed his shoulders, and he knew the voice that addressed him wasn't from a nightmare. "Come back to me."  
  
When he opened his eyes, they actually opened, and he found himself staring at the floor. Warm, soft, hands on him, sharp against his thigh-- He shoved himself up and heat spilled out from under the raised blanket. "Sorry! Sorry. You okay?"  
  
Reid smiled up at him, bemused. "I'm fine. I'd have moved you, if I needed to get up. But, you needed me where I was much more than I needed another cup of coffee."  
  
Chaz moved, lowering himself to his elbows to stop letting all the heat out of the blankets, and eyed Reid. "I thought Langly was sleeping on my other arm."  
  
"He was. You had a nightmare about chains, so I rolled him off you. Less complaining than you'd think. He is _slightly_ less exhausted than I am."  
  
Chaz pressed a kiss to Reid's eyebrow. "You should sleep. I thought you were going to."  
  
"Did you really think I was going to sleep after _that_?" Reid reached up to tuck Chaz's hair behind his ear. "I knew you were going to have nightmares, which are not going to help you get actual rest. I'm sorry about the last one. I couldn't figure it out fast enough."  
  
"How long have I been asleep?"  
  
Reid yawned. "Five hours, maybe? Probably about that. It's light out."  
  
"That's five hours I didn't think I was getting." Chaz kissed his way down Reid's face. "Spencer?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You should get some sleep."  
  
"Too much coffee. I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Reid yawned again. "You should go back to sleep. You need it."  
  
"Too much adrenaline. I'll make you a deal," Chaz offered, burying his face against Reid's neck and taking a deep breath. "I'll make sure we're both tired enough to sleep, and I promise if you fall asleep first, I'll shut the door. You need to sleep, Spencer."  
  
"I had a longer nap than you did, while you were flying in," Reid reminded him, fingers tracing patterns against Chaz's back. "And I'm not sure I really want to take anything off, lying on the floor like this. And I do have to be on the floor tonight... today. What _time_ is it?"  
  
"Does it matter? You're on vacation. _I'm_ on vacation." Chaz lifted his head again, squinting at Reid. "I know that's not quite a 'no', but there's something going on here that you're not telling me, so I'm taking it as a 'no'."  
  
"Every sexual experience I've had in the last twenty-four hours has been questionable, at best, and I'm trying to avoid continuing that trend. Also, my back is not in the best condition, after I completely ignored the point where I should have stopped, last night." The look on Reid's face was that of the cat who has not gotten the canary, but has instead gotten his claws stuck in the carpet and now has the canary nesting in his fur.  
  
Chaz glanced over at where Langly slept, curled tightly around himself and trying to hog one of the blankets. "Is this like the time he smacked you in the face?"  
  
"Thirty-year-old Vaseline."  
  
Horror twisted Chaz's face. "Okay, having encountered Vaseline that was twenty years past date, I am entirely sympathetic. And as a reassurance, I wasn't really considering anything that would need lube."  
  
Reid tipped his head, contemplatively. "You are welcome to try, but I promise you nothing."  
  
Chaz raised an eyebrow, before he lowered his head, again, kissing Reid's collarbone. "Pretty sure there's enough of me left to take you with me."  
  
"Then shouldn't I be the one making us tired?" Reid asked, tipping his head back so Chaz could better reach his neck.  
  
"Nope. I'm the one of us who just woke up. Notably from a dream where I spent a lot of time looking at _myself_ naked, so I have no idea if this is going to work for me, either. But, there's two of us, and probably enough working parts between us."  
  
"If we put Langly between us, there would definitely be enough working parts _between us_." A quiet sound of pleasure slipped between Reid's lips as he wrapped his leg around Chaz's. "But, I don't want to wake him up. He's had a rough night. We probably didn't help with that."  
  
"I know we didn't help," Chaz murmured, sinking onto Reid's chest in defeat. "This isn't going to work, is it?"  
  
"Sex is not always the answer. It's not even usually the answer. I _will_ admit it's an excellent diversion." Reid rubbed his foot against the back of Chaz's leg. "You want to tell me what that last dream was about?"  
  
"No. I think I'm just going to lie here and sulk for a bit. You're warm." Chaz shifted down a little to make sure Reid could breathe, if they actually fell asleep like that. "I think I'm calling in sick."  
  
"You're on leave."  
  
"No, I mean _more_ sick. I got three days because Nikki and Hafs watched me collapse into the snow, and everybody knows they can call me, I'm just banned from setting foot in the building for a couple of days." Chaz took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. "No one knows I'm the only surviving victim."  
  
"You weren't sure of that until after you'd left." Reid paused. "Are you sure that's something you want to do? The questions..."  
  
"Can't be any worse than the last time I left town and almost didn't come back. Probably a lot less bad, actually."  
  
"You're thinking of _quitting_?" Reid pushed himself up just enough to see Chaz's head resting on his chest.  
  
"Now? Not really. I just want to spend a few days ... there are two endings to that sentence, and I'm not entirely sure they're distinct, and that scares the hell out of me." Peering up into Reid's eyes, Chaz made a decision and closed his own. "They're 'alone' and 'with you'."  
  
"You're not going to be alone, here," Reid warned, running his fingers through Chaz's hair, and completely ignoring the other option.  
  
"I'm not going to be around people who are _worried_ about me. You're in my head. If you're worried, it's because there's something to worry about, and Langly mostly accepts your judgement _about me_. However much I wish he'd accept either of our judgements about him..." Tipping his head back into Reid's palm, Chaz went on. "No matter how resilient they know I am, there's always something. And putting up with Brady looking at me sideways for a week, because another gamma got into my head is just... not on my list of things to do this week. Maybe next week, but not right now."  
  
"You don't just mean 'worried' as in 'concerned for your health'," Reid observed, idly rubbing the base of Chaz's skull.  
  
It took a few incoherent sounds before Chaz managed another sentence. "Do that more." A few more seconds passed before he remembered what they'd been talking about. "No. I don't. Even Hafs is... she's not afraid of me, because I'm pretty sure if the shit hit the fan, she could tune the Bugzapper to block me out. We've never tried. I'm trying not to give the Anomaly leverage if _she_ slips, again. But, we're... different. Anomalous. And every single case we deal with is people like us. Our team is incredibly familiar with exactly how wrong we can go, given the wrong situation. And Brady can kiss my fucking ass, all these years later. He almost shot me in the face, and I didn't go for him, so he can cram it up his ass right next to the stick."  
  
"He almost _shot you_?" Reid sounded exactly as horrified as he was. "Do I want to know?"  
  
"Probably not. Another one like Weaver." Chaz groaned and mashed his face against Reid's chest. "If we have the conversation I think we're having tomorrow, ask me then. I'll tell you anything, then. Right now, just keep doing that thing with your fingers. That feels incredible. _Fuck_ , I love y--"  
  
" _Excuse me?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME ON VEXATION OF SPIRIT:  
> What the fuck, Chaz? What the god damn actual fuck? Also a few other incredibly difficult conversational points. And then... what's going on with clones in Nebraska? Is Langly's family just special? Who the hell provided the DNA for these eugenics experiments (and how disappointed were they when they got _Langly_ out of the deal)?
> 
> All this and probably more, after I take a few days off to straighten some shit out! (And deal with the fact that it is absolutely one of those blowing shit up holidays.)


End file.
